


Unravel Me

by NaruKoibito



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adult Content, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Divergence - Post-Hogwarts, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Mutual Pining, Smut, Swearing, because how can this be a friends with benefits story without smut, slight AU where they don't get together in HBP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:54:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24399082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NaruKoibito/pseuds/NaruKoibito
Summary: After a drunken night, Harry and Ginny find themselves tangled up in each other - in more ways than one. It's just stress relief for two friends who are far too busy with their careers for a relationship... Right?
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 213
Kudos: 257





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The beginning of this story was one of the first things I wrote after my 10+ year writing drought that I actually liked. It's also my first time attempting to write smut (oh God, what was I thinking?), which first appears in the next chapter. 
> 
> Please avert your eyes from this fic if that is not your cup of tea.

The darkness in the room was causing a paradoxical stirring within him. He ached to see her in the light, whether it was daylight, the warm flicker of candlelight, or even the moonlight blue-white from a simple lumos. He longed to trace the seemingly endless freckles that sprinkled her nose and trailed down her navel with his lips. He wanted to find the constellations on her pale skin. But in the darkness, at least she wouldn’t be able to read him and his desires.

When Harry kissed her, there was no way he could pretend this didn’t mean more than it did. He couldn’t hold back the forcefulness behind his grip, the possessiveness as he moved to mark her as his - even if only for this one night. Nor could he control the occasional tremble in his fingers as they skimmed over her, mapping her in his mind through tactile touch if not sight. Their bodies slick with exertion, it would be more believable that it was sweat, not the tangy salty taste of tears.

Yes, darkness was better. Her body was cradled against his, radiating warmth like the sun. He folded an arm over his eyes as if to shield from her brilliance. It was too much. It was more than he could have bargained for. He would take whatever she offered. It was not enough.

With his other hand, he played with her silky hair. He breathed as deeply as he dared, hoping she would not notice. Her flowery scent washed over him, sending prickles of comfort and bitterness through his veins. 

He wondered how much longer he had with her. Already, reasons that could lead her to go waltzed through his mind — her family might be expecting her, last time she stayed only thirty-two minutes, she had somewhere to be, or maybe she got what she came for. His body tensed and he mentally cursed himself. _Enjoy it. Enjoy it while it lasts. Don’t break the spell._ He forced the tension to ebb away. Any change and it might prompt her to leave earlier than she intended.

The first night, after a whirlwind of passion and inebriation, then the follow-up the morning after — torn clothes, bruising love marks, sounds he had never made before — he had asked her not to leave. He couldn’t discern the many emotions that slipped over her eyes, which ultimately shuttered. Her smile made his stomach fill with ice. He hadn’t asked again. 

Harry wasn’t one to plead.

She kept him on his toes. He would hear she was in town, but never know if or when she would decide. There was that time she had been watching him over the rim of her wine glass. She then excused herself from the table. He waited what he had hoped was a reasonable amount of time before he slipped away. Not entirely sure, he headed in the direction of the loo, only for a hand to thrust out and pull him into a broom closet. Her kisses were searing, leaving imaginary blisters on his lips, his skin. When he was with her, he felt like he was burning up. It was blissful oblivion. 

When she would get bored? He wasn’t sure what to do to keep the flame alive. Anger started drumming in his veins. He resented the imbalance of it all, the unfairness of it all, his complete lack of control. 

He should end this, whatever this was. He had worked himself into a frenzy before, convinced himself that it was better if he were to do it, because then — then it wouldn’t hurt so much. If he made the call, he could stop bracing for the fall. But then she’d wrap her arms around him, that blazing look in her eyes, and as his brain would short-circuit with her touch — oh yes, this was worth it. 

She shifted in his arms.

 _Fuck it_.

“Come here,” he murmured. He tilted her chin toward him and, despite the darkness, could see in his mind’s eye the way her eyes flashed, the way her lips parted. He let his dark mood dissipate as he slid his lips over hers once again.

He felt more than heard her chuckle.

“Up for another round?”

“If you are.” He hoped he didn’t sound as breathless as he felt. She kissed him almost as hungrily as he did. His heart sang when she moaned. He felt a deep loss when she pulled away.

“Damn, Ron and Hermione are expecting me later. It’s probably best if we had a raincheck.” 

“Oh,” his voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. 

“Mind if I take a shower?”

“‘Course not.” 

He sat up as she slid off the bed, pulling the sheet to her chest. He put his glasses on, his green eyes adjusting as she lit the candles in the room. He swallowed hard at the sight of her, bathed in an orange and yellow glow. Her hair, mussed from their lovemaking (he refused to call it anything else, if only to himself), shined like fire when she moved, revealing reds, oranges, golds. 

She was looking at him expectantly, and he dragged his eyes away from her. He went over to the dresser and pulled out a clean towel for her. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

“Thanks Harry,” she smiled, leaning in to give him a soft kiss. He could almost believe in the tenderness, though he knew that would only feed the ache she’d leave in her wake. The kiss slowly deepened. When she began to pull away, his treacherous hand, tangled in her hair, moved with her. She gave him a sly smile. “Join me?”

He tried to tap down at the soppy grin that spread across his face. He skimmed his lips across her jawline, attempting to hide it. 

“Don’t mind being late?” he teased, wondering if he could distract her enough to simply stay.

This was the wrong thing to say because she was now really pulling away, gently pressing his face away.

“Mmmm, good point. Wouldn’t want Ron to cotton on, now would we?”

A spike of fear went through him at what his best mate would think of whatever this was. Harry winced, his mind flickering between picturing a young Ron with a Beater’s bat and adult, Auror-trained Ron with his wand. 

“Right.”

As she retreated, he watched her longingly. She glanced back, and he hastily pretended to be immersed in reading some parchment. He looked back up when he heard the door shut behind her. He raked a hand through his tousled black hair, relieving the tension building up at his scalp, and let out a sigh.

Needing something to do, he threw on a faded shirt and trousers. He picked up the bed sheet Ginny had left in her wake, rumpling it up and tossing it back on the bed. He paused when he gathered up her clothes that were strewn across the floor: the tantalizing jumper that hugged her curves over her head, watching her red hair tumble back down her shoulders; the swell of her breasts under the lacy black thing that even now his face heated as he gingerly touched; that burning look she gave that had him stirring all over again and tempted to try his luck in persuading her to stay a little longer. 

He shook his head to shake off the desire that clouded his mind, focusing on folding the clothes. 

If she wanted to stay, she would stay.

“Gin?” He knocked on the bathroom door.

“Yes?” she shouted over the sound of water.

“I’ve got your clothes, erm, if you don’t mind me coming in for a sec.”

Her laughter delighted him. “Are you asking permission?”

“I wouldn’t want to presume…” he called back awkwardly.

“Of course you can. Thanks, Harry,” she said, and he could tell she meant it.

He popped in and out, lifting a hand to cover his eyes, still feeling as if somehow he needed to preserve her modesty after practically fondling her bra. He simply couldn’t resist stealing a glance. He was gifted with the sight of Ginny arching an elegant eyebrow as she laughed. She had pulled the curtain away just enough to reveal her face.

“Your stupid nobility knows no bounds!” She chortled.

Flushed beyond belief, and in no little part by how her darkened, wet hair clung to her skin, Harry shot her a grin. “All the Auror work has taught me to always aim for plausible deniability.”

He was pleased as he left by the sound of her laughing harder.

Emboldened, he went to the kitchen, putting on the kettle. Maybe, maybe he could just casually ask to see her again. Maybe dinner. He enjoyed her company. Maybe if he spent some more time with her, just them, not simply in the bedroom, maybe she’d see him for more than a good shag — not that he wanted that to stop, but maybe she’d want to do other things as well. They were friends too; she had said it herself. He wasn’t picky about the location or activity. Hannah could give them a more private booth at the Leaky Cauldron, or maybe he could cook her dinner or something, or they could go somewhere and fly (sure, she flew all the time, but it never dimmed her enthusiasm for it). 

The kettle whistled and he automatically poured the water into the waiting mugs with tea bags. He could do this.

“Hey.”

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin. Ginny smiled at him, casting a quick drying charm on her hair. 

“Tea?” he asked, already stirring in the two spoons of sugar the way she liked it. Her smile warmed even more, and Harry blinked hard. Sometimes it was like looking straight at the sun. 

“Thank you…but I really do have to go.” She was gathering up the rest of her things, tugging on her robes, her eyes still skimming the room making sure she had everything.

“Oh, uh, right.” Harry tried to recover from the jolt of panic, only to drink a scalding mouthful of tea. He mentally grasped at what to say to stall her, even a moment longer. “How long are you here?”

“Not too long. I’ll see you next time,” Ginny shot him a smile, hastily brushing her lips against his cheek in what could only be the most platonic of pecks as if everything that had recently transpired had just been a dream. Harry turned his head, trying to catch her lips once more, but she was already withdrawing, heading toward the door. 

“What about dinner?” he blurted.

“What about it?” she returned, eyebrows raised.

“No matter how busy you are, you’ve got to eat,” he said, trying not to squirm under her gaze. “You’re a Weasley after all.”

One side of her lips quirked up, but he couldn’t quite read her. “That’d be nice. I’ll — hopefully I’ll have time. See you, Harry.”

“See you, Gin…” 

The sound of the door closing seemed to echo, and he slumped against the counter. 

He padded back to his bedroom and flopped onto his bed, already replaying the conversation in his head. She hadn’t said how long she’d be here. She hadn’t said no to dinner, but they hadn’t really set plans. Maybe he should owl her...but say what? Thanks again for dropping by, maybe next time we can meet and keep our clothes on? Would he be breaking some sort of unspoken agreement if he sent flowers?

Unspoken indeed. They’d never really talked about what this was. If she wanted something more, she’d say so. 

Not that their jobs made it convenient for anything more than these brief, passionate stolen moments. She was a professional Harpes Quidditch player, who trained in Wales, and his last few missions had sent him all around the continent. He thought ruefully of last month when he’d been fighting off the cold in a wet tent, reading a letter from Hermione about the weekly Sunday Weasley dinner at the Burrow, where Ginny had made a surprise visit. 

Maybe she just wanted to keep it…casual. 

Harry felt a painful prick against his fingers. He’d curled up against the balled up bedsheet, which smelled ever so faintly of flowers. He raised the offending item close to his face. Something shiny and dangly glinted back at him curiously. A miniature Snitch earring pulsed playfully against his skin. His lips tugged up into a smile, his fingers closing around the earring. 

Hm, keepsake or an excuse?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginny wakes to a long-forgotten dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear, here we go...here is my first ever attempt at smut. Hopefully, I'll be able to pull it off again in the chapters to come.
> 
> Thank you everyone who has been so wonderful, kind, and supportive during this process. Truly, I could never have done it without you.

Ginny Weasley didn’t do regrets. The past was the past. She couldn’t unwrite words into a cursed diary, unplace her elbow from that butter dish, push Fred out of the way. No use crying over spilt ink. She had learned to grit her teeth, transform her sorrow and fears into anger and action, and keep moving. Don’t dwell. Change what could be changed; accept things that couldn’t.

So when she opened her eyes to a softly sleeping Harry Potter, both of them in various states of undress, she wasn’t sure what to make of it. It was a remarkably realistic dream. She applauded her subconscious imagination even if it was an idiotic masochist. This imaginary Harry was so close that she could make out of slight fluttering of his eyelashes (they couldn’t actually be _that_ long), his face framed with that trademark disastrous hair. His mouth hung slightly open in what is definitely an unrealistically attractive way. Oh, this was new, she mused, noting the definition of muscle and black hair that trailed down before it deviously hid under a thin sheet.

Mm, yes, definitely a dream, she decided with a rueful smile…or a nightmare, considering the pounding in her head. It was as if her mind were revolting against the sight, punishing her for the foolish whims of her heart. But…the piercing pain was only increasing, her mouth felt like sandpaper, and she really needed to relieve her bladder, so just wake up, Ginny. Wake up.

The world tilted nauseatingly as blurred fragments swam back to her. The engagement party, Ron and Hermione, the cheering, shots being passed to her, tapping glasses with Harry… stumbling in the dark, searing kisses, combing her nearly numb fingers through that rough and tumble hair (it _was_ as soft as it looked), wired glasses pressed awkwardly into her cheek, the feel of him all over and inside of her. 

Ginny felt bile rise in her throat. Oh God, she was going to be sick.

Harry started to stir beside her. Could she grab her things and Apparate away before he woke up? His hand moved up her hip, goosebumps rising behind his touch, that bedsheet dangerously lifting (she wasn’t looking, honest). His eyes moved behind his lids, and she held her breath when those pools of green slowly met her eyes. 

“Gin…ny?”

Sleep and confusion began to clear as his eyes went wide as saucers, glancing down to the exposed parts of her body before immediately darting back to her eyes. His face lit up like a Christmas tree.

“Did we — oh God — !“ Harry jolted, only to curl and clutch his head with a moan.

She swallowed the large lump forming at her throat. 

“Loo?”

“What? Uh, ‘course,” he said, his brow furrowing as he pointed. 

“Thanks.” Wrapping a blanket around herself, Ginny made her escape. After relieving herself, she hunched over the sink, eyeing her disheveled state in the mirror. In Harry Potter’s irritatingly clean bathroom.

“Seen better days, dearie,” her reflection tutted. Ginny groaned and pressed her face against the cool surface, resisting banging her head against it only because of the already-resounding headache.

Maybe it had been years, but it came crashing back: the humiliating crush, his lack of interest, her invisibility. She had long outgrown all that, fought her way back to herself, allowed herself to be who she was: funny, outspoken, fiery, sharp. She wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea, but damn, wasn’t that the point? If Harry wasn’t able to figure out a good thing, then it was his loss. She had moved on, dating Michael and Dean. She had made a difference at Hogwarts during the war. She had achieved her lifelong dream of becoming a professional Quidditch player. Nothing could stop her.

So why could one look at Harry still undo her?

“Ginny?” his voice called to her from behind the door. “You okay?”

“Yes,” she called back, cursing herself. She opened the door, peeking carefully first. Harry stood nearby, clutching his head precariously, dressed in a faded Gryffindor Captain shirt and rumpled jeans. 

“Do you mind if I…” He shot her a tentative smile as he made hand gestures to indicate swapped places. 

“Of course!” 

The door shut behind him, and she stood stupidly in his room, torn between making a run for it and examining Harry’s sparse bedroom (lots of clutter, particularly in regards to scribbled-on parchment). Ginny had never done this before — whatever this was. A drunken shag between mates? A one-night stand? She wanted to cradle her head in her hands at the thought. Why did it have to be _Harry_?

_Isn’t this what you always wanted_? an evil small voice whispered.

She shoved it away viciously. Right, clothes first. As quickly as her head and roiling stomach would allow, she reached for her previously discarded clothes. She had just finished buttoning her blouse when Harry reappeared. He seemed to be struggling to form the right words, looking anywhere but her. Her stomach swooped unpleasantly. 

“Hangover potion?” Ginny finally managed, slipping her wand between her skirt’s waistband.

“Er — right,” he said. His lips tightened to a thin line before he turned his head away. “Uh, this way.”

The silence weighed heavily on her as they trudged to the kitchen. Harry shuffled through a cabinet for a moment. When he reemerged, he handed her a small vial with a grim smile. She held the vial up for a moment, then tapped hers against the one he held up.

“Cheers,” she said.

They downed the contents. Ginny grimaced at the acrid taste, but let out a sigh as the drumming in her head receded. She rested against the kitchen counter and reveled in delirious relief for a moment. But the smile died on her lips when she chanced a glance at Harry. His lower lip jutted out, his jaw tight. His body seemed to fold into itself, but his eyes flickered through so many conflicted emotions. A swell of emotions built up in her chest.

“I don’t do regrets.” 

His head swerved, his green eyes glinting dangerously. “I never said I regretted it.”

“Good.” She raised a shoulder nonchalantly. 

Ginny stared at the empty vial with bitterness, wondering how to best make her escape and put this behind them without making it more awkward than it was. All those hard-earned years of building a friendship and burying her feelings dashed by one foolhardy night. Lovely. 

Harry fidgeted with a nearby scrap of parchment, rolling and unrolling it between his fingers.

“It was — nice,” he finally muttered.

“Nice?” She raised an eyebrow, not sure if she was annoyed or amused. He was flushed down to his roots, but he had this frustrated and reckless look that was far too damn appealing.

“The parts I can, er, remember. It’s not every day you get to — you know — you’re beautiful, fit, and —” he cringed “— I hope it was decent for you,” Harry finished lamely. 

Ginny burst out laughing. The entire situation suddenly seemed ridiculous. Harry half apologizing, hoping he was an okay shag? 

Harry covered his face, mortified, but soon they were both laughing. He shook his head, but behind his embarrassment, his smile was real and relieved. Her heart warmed and lightened at the sight.

Maybe things weren’t ruined.

“Been a while since you had a good shag, Harry?” Ginny wiggled her eyebrows. 

“It’s not easy dating the Boy-Who-Lived.” He raised a shoulder with a small smile, but it seemed sadder than he probably intended. “As some would probably be happy to tell you.”

Anger pulsed through her as she remembered those articles in _The Daily Prophet_ and _Witch Weekly_ about Harry’s failed relationships, some of which hardly deserved such a title. He couldn’t even go to a pub with someone (male or female) without some speculation. 

“Doesn’t mean you can’t find an interested party.” 

Harry flushed again under her gaze, but his expression darkened. “I’ve tried it. I guess it’s just not for me.”

She tried to picture it. The discomforting attention, the worshiping looks, the undesired touches, as if strangers had a right to any part of him.

“No, I suppose not.”

“What about you? Do you — I mean, it’s been a few months since Dean. Sorry, I don’t mean to pry.”

“It’s only fair,” Ginny said, still amazed that she was having this conversation with Harry of all people, though maybe it wasn’t so odd considering what had transpired last night. “It was a long time coming — the breakup. It hadn’t been working for some time.” 

She thought back to the year Dean was on the run when they weren’t sure whether they were or weren’t together. That awful year under the Carrows, where things like dating and boys seemed least important (except one boy they laid their faith in). And then even after it was over, everything had seemed so broken — Harry and her family and her own grief had been all-consuming. Breaking one more thing seemed too much of an effort. She shook herself from the depressing memories.

“We let it drag on. The long-distance didn’t help, and maybe that’s what kept it at bay. Dean wanted to make it work, and our problems were easier to forget when we had so little time together anyway. I wanted Quidditch to work more than the relationship.”

She made a sweeping gesture with her hand, a “what can you do,” and Harry made a noise of understanding, his eyes trained on the mess of parchments, quills, and ink bottles scattered on his kitchen table. Hardly space for eating. He never quite outgrew his obsessive streak with solving mysteries and saving the world. The uninvited shadow of a crying Cho Chang rose in her mind before she forced it down. 

“Since then?” he asked. 

“Then?” Ginny echoed, fumbling to regain her footing. “Oh, right, shagging.”

He let out a snort of laughter at her crassness, his face lit with amusement instead of worry for once, and a tiny bit of triumph flashed through her. 

“I’ve enjoyed being able to focus on Quidditch, and now I’ll be starting. Gwenog thinks we have a pretty good shot at the Cup this year.”

“You’re brilliant. They should’ve switched had you play over Rebecca Saks ages ago.”

“Oh? I thought you were a Puddlemere United fan.” 

“I follow most of the teams,” Harry said, scratching the back of his neck.

“Not having to fret about romance really allowed me to focus on training.”

“I suppose I can relate. There’s never enough time.”

“Ron says there’s talk of you being promoted.” Youngest ever to be made deputy head Auror, though Harry looked more disgruntled than pleased.

“Women just love the ‘career-obsessed,’” he said dryly, using air-quotes. 

“You love what you do. Nothing wrong with that.” She bumped shoulders with him, and they shared a smile. “Of course, it has its drawbacks. Don’t really have time for, you know.”

“I know,” Harry said, his voice low.

Ginny was suddenly incredibly conscious of his presence, the heat that rolled off his body. 

“Sometimes my teammates encourage me to…unwind.” The stupid words tumbled out of her mouth, and a frantic urge to somehow take it back, _take it back_ surged up inside her.

“Unwind,” Harry repeated, watching her as he took the vial from her. She bit down on her lip, cursing when his fingers brushed against hers.

“Stress management,” Ginny said slowly, watching his gaze land on her lips.

“Maybe…” Harry swallowed hard. “I can help.”

The way he was looking at her made her feel uncomfortably exposed, like he was really _seeing_ her. Her heartbeat thrummed loudly in her ears, her chest growing hot with something she had pushed back and back until now it was spilling out, spreading through her body like wildfire. 

She looked up at him through her lashes, releasing the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

“Maybe you can.”

_Fuck it._

Ginny closed the distance between them, her arms wound around his neck, and she kissed him. Kissed him like she had only dreamed of since she was a stupid little girl, who couldn’t speak near an awkward, kind boy, unleashing years of bottled-up desire into him. Harry met her with equal passion, his hands splayed against her back, pulling her closer against him. The backs of her eyes burned, and an angry noise, half trapped in the back of her throat, tore through her. He took advantage of her parting lips to slip his tongue in. It hungrily twined with hers. 

He pressed her hip against the counter, the sharp pain building the only thing keeping her from melting. Her fingers raked through his hair, dragging against his scalp. He released her lips, only to dip into her neck and graze against the sensitive part of her neck.

“Harry,” Ginny said, her voice demanding (demanding what really?), and he growled. His right hand swept over the table and shoved the clutter haphazardly away. He clumsily lifted her onto the table. His hands swept over her breasts, far more gently and gingerly than necessary. 

She made an impatient noise, needing more _now._ She yanked at his shirt, which he quickly tugged over his head. When his glasses got caught in his haste, and he grew more and more belligerent in his efforts to free himself from the shirt. 

Ginny couldn’t stop the laughter that rushed out. Harry, finally liberated and adjusting his glasses, scowled for a moment, but then he too was laughing, the knot of tension between them easing. 

The sight of Harry laughing, so innocent and unburdened, melted something inside her. She reached up and cupped his face, wanting to drink in the sight. His expression flickered with surprise but darkened. The air seemed thicker, seeming ready to ignite at any moment. His very presence seemed to smolder her.

“Ginny,” he whispered, looking at her through his heavily lidded eyes. Then he was tilting toward her or she was drawn toward him, really she wasn’t sure, and the kiss was tantalizingly soft that the back of her eyes prickled. She ran her hands up his chest, awed that she might be the cause of the erratic beating of his heart.

Was she doing that to him?

With great care, Harry began trailing kisses down her neck and her collarbone, his fingers fumbling with the buttons of her blouse. She threw her head back, giving him more access, ignoring the books and quills that pressed against her spine. 

A flash of red went through her when his lips found one of her breasts, lightly grazing her nipple. His hand snaked up behind her back, groping to unclasp her bra. He let out a growl of triumph as he freed her of her top and bra. She gasped when his lips tightened around her nipple again, while a hand cupped her other breast. She arched up against him, grinding her hip against his arousal. His hand skimmed down her abdomen and under her skirt. As he brushed against her knickers, and he made a choking noise against her chest.

“You’re so wet.” His fingers pressed against her knickers again. “Gin — can I…?”

Could he what? Did it matter? When this was what she had always wanted?

“ _Yes_.”

He dropped onto his knees, pulling her knickers off, following its path as it slipped down her toned legs. He stared at her for a moment, and she imagined she must look wild, propped up on her elbows, her skirt bunched at her waist. She felt heat creep up her chest, and blew a stray strand of hair out of her face, pushing through the embarrassment with a smirk.

“See something you like?”

He scoffed. “That’s an understatement.” 

But his eyes looked up to meet hers while pressing a kiss against her thigh. Her head went fuzzy as she watched, almost in a trance, as he lowered his tongue to her hot center. First it was tentative, skimming over her. Her head dropped back as a tingling pleasure shot through her. None of all those embarrassing times she had imagined him touching her while using her own fingers could compare. He must have been encouraged by her response because his movements grew more assured. He shifted to roll his tongue over her clit, swirling and alternating pressure. She jerked under him, her muscles straining and toes curling with an impossible need.

Ginny cried out when he slipped a finger into her, then another, burying them deep. She reached blindly for him, aching for more, even as he gave and gave. Her fingers wound into his dark hair as she writhed underneath him, pressing up against him. His fingers pulsed over a deep bundle of nerves inside her to the same rhythm of his tongue. She bucked her hips up to meet him, craving more as he built up pleasure inside her. It crashed over her as she screamed her release.

Ginny had not even realized she had been biting her hand to keep her cries down until Harry gently pulled it away from her face. She watched, in a daze, as he kissed the pink teeth marks that marred her pale, freckled flesh. His face was flushed, his lips glistened, and his eyes flashed with awe and desire. 

“Merlin, Ginny. You’re beautiful,” he said with such reverence that her heart clenched. 

She pulled him up into a deep kiss, feeling an odd thrill at the taste of her on him, mingled with his heady scent. He hips rubbed against her, his desire apparent and urgent. She slipped a hand into his jeans and took him in her hand. He groaned, letting his head fall against her shoulder as she stroked his length and fumbled to relieve him of the rest of his clothing. When his jeans fell to his knees, he stilled her hand.

“We don’t have to — ”

“I want to,” Ginny said, wanting him hot and messy and needy for her for once. She moved her hand and his eyes clouded over, her hand gliding against him, alternating between soft and firm strokes. But her hand paused as a seed of doubt pulsed through her. “Do you — ?”

“Yes,” he choked out, burying his head between her breasts, cupping one as she continued her ministrations. 

“Harry,” Ginny gasped when she slid him between her thighs, the hot friction electrifying. She rolled her hips against him, pleased when he made a garbled noise, jerkily searching through the mess for something. 

Wand in hand, Harry quickly muttered a contraceptive charm. With surprising care, he leaned her back against the kitchen table. His fingers cupping her bum as he lined himself against her opening, but he paused. 

He searched her face for something, and whatever he found made him swallow hard and jerk his head in a nod.

Without breaking eye contact, Harry entered her, and she let out a cry at how impossibly good, impossibly right he felt. How ridiculous that it felt like some missing puzzle piece was finally found.

It should be illegal, Ginny decided, to see his handsome face scrunched up this way, sweat furrowing on his brow. Her nails scraped against the rippling muscles of his back. It was almost unfair because she couldn’t unsee him like this. And she never wanted anyone else to see it either. 

Her leg wound around him, pulling him closer, and a rush of swear words tumbled from his lips. 

“ _Move_ , Harry.”

He pulled himself almost all the way out before thrusting back in to the hilt. She arched up to meet him, watching his face clench with pleasure at the sweet impact of their bodies. Their harsh breathing and the slick sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room. The table scraped against the floor. They began to set a harsh, punishing pace, more items tumbling to a messy heap. 

Harry pressed one of her legs higher, allowing him to drive in deeper, hitting a depth that reverberated inside her. Ginny mewed against his shoulder when one of his hands went between them to brush against her clit. 

It shouldn’t feel this good, it shouldn’t feel this good, but God, it _did_. But even through the mind-numbing pleasure, a tiny fear whispered in her heart whether she would ever feel this good again.

Pleasure soared through her as his fingers found a steady rhythm. He was here, surrounding her, enveloping her. It was better than flying, the weight of the world behind her, only endless blue expanse and bright sunlight — and Harry, whipping past her, glancing back with that smile. 

“Ginny, I’m — !” Harry gasped, and she jerkily nodded in agreement. 

His hand found hers and wound them together, clutching desperately. His pubic bone replaced the cadence of his fingers. 

Ginny sank her teeth into his shoulder as Harry thrust one last time, and clamped down on his as they both toppled off the cliff together. She whimpered as he released into her. She had never felt so full.

She was still blinking away the bright lights behind her eyes, their jagged breathing filling the air. She felt like she was still floating, slowly, slowly descending until her foot touched the ground once more.

Only when the tingling began to fade did Ginny notice the cool, wet sensation in the hand not clasped in Harry’s. She lazily opened one eye and turned her head. The air in her lungs choked in her throat as she stared unseeingly at the ink dripping down her right hand. 

The blood drained from her head.

“Ginny?” Harry’s voice seemed far away, small and scared. “Did I hurt you?"

“Hmm?” Ginny shut her eyes tightly, stilling the dizziness that swirled in her head, before turning to him with a smooth smile. “No, not at all — it was…nice.”

He let out a huff but seemed to relax notably. He let go of her hand to cast a cleaning spell over them. Despite herself, she flushed under his examining gaze. He looked both shy and pleased when he mumbled, “I might have torn your blouse.”

Ginny snorted with laughter as he nuzzled against her neck, his early morning stubble rubbing against her skin. She gave into the yearning, letting herself savor the musky smell of his sweat, the feel of his warmth around her, for a foolish, weak moment. 

Then she gently pushed him away.

“I’m sorry.” Harry immediately started, lifting himself off of her. “I must be crushing you.”

“No,” Ginny said, already missing his warm weight. But the tender ache between her legs curled her right hand into a fist. “But I should probably get going.”

“What? Please don’t — don’t leave.” Harry averted his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck. “I can make us breakfast” — she reached for her blouse — “or there’s this place nearby —”

He looked like a kicked puppy.

“Harry,” she said, touching his face. He stilled, his brows furrowed. “You’re sweet. Really.” 

Unable to stand the look on his face, Ginny kissed him. When they broke apart, she took advantage of his muddled state to shuffle off the table and grabbed her wand from where it had fallen on the floor. When she felt coolness slip down her thighs, she pushed down on the heat that surged through her. She cast a cleaning charm and started pulling on her clothes, avoiding his gaze. 

“But I can hardly go out with ripped clothing, and I have a Portkey to catch in a few hours and still have to pack. This was fun. Definitely a stress-reliever,” she rambled. God, she couldn’t stop. “If _The Daily Prophet_ were to get a hold of how well the Boy Who Lived shags, you’d have to get your own Auror detail to keep the ladies away.”

Harry opened and closed his mouth before settling on a strained smile. 

“Obviously, that wouldn’t do, so I hope this helped you too,” she went on. “I’m sure you don’t have an easy time ‘unwinding’ with all that press.” 

Ginny really needed to shut up before she put her other foot in her mouth. She made for his entryway, where she found her discarded robes pooled on the floor. Harry quietly followed her, his hands shoved into the pockets of the jeans he had pulled back on. 

“Can we get together, maybe, next time you’re in town?” Harry asked.

“Next time?” she repeated, not looking him in the eye. He drew in a sharp breath.

“As friends,” he added quickly.

Something awful bloomed in her chest. 

Last night was a stupid drunken tryst, and this morning they agreed that they both were overworked and needed an outlet. Keep moving forward. She wasn’t going to let it and this relentless, never-ending attraction to him ruin their friendship. 

“Of course we can,” she assured him. “This doesn’t change anything.”

“Yeah?” Harry sounded unsure, but reached up and tucked a stray hair behind her ear. 

Ginny gave him a bracing smile, resisting the urge to lean into his touch.

“Yeah.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry gets lost in a teenage fantasy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for all your wonderful encouragement for my first smut scene! It really helped as I continued on this foray. I rewrote this chapter so many times, I've lost count. I really hope you enjoy it though.

Harry found himself stopped in front of a magazine rack, his traitorous feet rooted to the ground. Ginny, decked out in her Holy Harpies uniform and poised flying on her broom, gazed back up at him, a wicked smile on her face and a fierce glint in her eye. 

He pulled his cap lower and glanced around to see if anyone had noticed him. The young wizard manning the little stand seemed utterly disinterested in his surroundings, chewing on some Droobles and flicking lazily through a rag in front of him. 

Swallowing hard, Harry gingerly picked up _The Quidditch Weekly_ from the shelf. He swore the photo of Ginny gave him a pleased wink. He flipped to the centerfold, skimming the article that announced her new position as a starting Chaser, with several accompanying photos of her and the team. 

It was strange being able to stare at her face unabashedly. He examined the magazine closer, wanting to see the familiar splatter of freckles. Photo Ginny threw her head back and laughed with delight at something one of her teammates leaned over to say. His mind drifted as her entire body shook with laughter. 

Three weeks ago. 

Twenty-two days, one hour, and fourteen minutes (not that he was counting), Harry had gone to the Leaky Cauldron to celebrate the engagement of his two best friends, and there she had been. Ginny, his best mate’s sister, a professional Quidditch player, his unrequited crush of five pathetic years. Looking completely and utterly radiant _._

For three weeks, he had agonized over what had happened. With every passing moment, he grew more and more certain that she had seen it as a mere dalliance, a one-time (ok, two-time) shag, and that was it. She couldn’t even look at him when he suggested getting together again. His silly crush and any future possibilities had gone up in smoke. He had thrown himself at work to do anything, anything to chase away thoughts of Ginny.

But after last night’s stakeout, he couldn’t keep that night’s memories at bay.

It had been a moment of weakness. The alcohol, the unconfined happiness for his best friends, the undeniable joy, and deep, deep down, a hollow loneliness and craving to be _loved_ the way that Ron and Hermione had a burn-down-the-ground (and maybe even themselves) kind of love. 

It had been so long since he had seen her, the first time in years since she was single and he might — just might — have the tiniest chance to bask in her presence, laugh unabashed at her jokes and wit, feel like he could be someone without a lightning scar.

And in the churn of these feelings, simultaneously dulled and sharpened by liquid courage, Ginny’s alluring brown eyes had been so dangerously close and easy to drown in. In the haze of it all, he couldn’t recall who moved first, if indeed there was an instigator, but in the crisp early winter evening, his lips were suddenly crashing against hers, and a hunger that had been suppressed for years came from the pit of his stomach to roar in his ears. She tasted like Firewhiskey but oh so, so much better. They kissed and kissed, lips tingling and sliding over each other. After what felt like several days, they pulled apart long enough for him to ask and her to say yes.

His eyes glazed over as the photograph of Ginny faded into intimate memories of her looking up at him through her lashes, her tongue flicking over her lower lip. The freckles that he had been amazed to discover under her shirt, beneath her bra, that lined up her thighs… How she had clung to him, writhed under his touch (his fingers, his tongue, his weight). He could practically smell that tantalizing flowery scent that followed her — practically feel her arching up against him, her soft skin pressed against his, her harsh breathing against his ear, her voice calling out his name. 

“Excuse me?”

Harry nearly dropped the magazine. A portly man impatiently gestured toward the stand.

“Oh — sorry.”

Harry shuffled a few steps back. The man turned his nose up at Harry while he carefully selected a copy of the magazine further back in the stack as if the further away from Harry’s grubby fingers the better. With great dignity and a deliberate swish of his robes, he waddled past him to make his purchase.

Trying to stifle his laugh, Harry looked down at his copy, where the photo of Ginny continued to laugh, only now he felt like they were sharing some inside joke.

 _Careful there_. 

He should probably put it back before he got lost in more absurd flights of fancy. His hand held up the magazine, in line with the other copies, all of the Ginnys smiling winningly at him. He rocked back and forth on his heels. It would just feed his futile yearnings, add fodder to the flame.

But what if that walrus-like man was going to use the magazine for _his_ lecherous purposes? 

A monster stirred with formidable force in his chest. 

Maybe he should buy all these copies.

 _No_ , Harry frowned at himself in disgust. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t had a lewd response. And for all he knew, the man was your average Quidditch fan. 

Still.

If he was never going to be with her again in that way, maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing ever to cling onto this pathetic substitute.

Safely stashing the purchased magazine deep in his cloak, Harry hurried to his destination. He glanced up at the bruising purple and pink sky, the sun dipping its head down beyond the horizon. His little detour had taken longer than he thought, and now he was late to the former DA gathering. If he weren’t excited to see Ron and Hermione, he probably would have begged off and curled back into bed. But he missed his best friends, especially considering how little he saw of Ron these days. 

Pushing open the heavy door of the Leaky Cauldron, he was greeted with a rush of warm air, loud chatter, and the inviting smell of whatever Tom and Hannah were cooking up in the kitchen. Despite having eaten already, he took a deep, appreciative breath in.

“ _There_ he is!” Harry was warmed by Ron’s shout over the noise. Laughter and the sound of glasses thumping against wood followed his voice. “Any longer and we were going to send a search party!”

Harry turned toward his best friend’s voice, a snarky reply on the tip of his tongue, but his smirk and the words died as they formed when there, at a table several feet from Ron and Hermione’s, standing between Neville and Luna, was Ginny.

Ginny with her flaming hair, giving him a devious smile. Here, surrounded by their friends, at the casual monthly former DA get-together that she usually missed. His friend. His friend whom he shagged.

“Oi, you just going to stand there?” Ron laughed.

“Shut up,” Harry bristled, trying hard not to stumble as he headed over to their table. He greeted others as he passed the tables.

He tried shooting Ginny a furtive glance, but it was intercepted when frizzy hair engulfed his vision as Hermione threw her arms around him.

“Harry!”

“Hey Hermione,” Harry said, returning her hug. He didn’t see her enough these days.

“You’re late. Where have you been?” 

“Got sidetracked.” He led her back to Ron.

“Not more work?” Hermione asked with a frown, Ron’s arm falling comfortably around her shoulders.

“No, I slept in,” he lied, placing his cloak and cap carefully on a nearby stool. 

Harry tried very hard to ignore how his heart clanged in his chest when he realized he had a view of Ginny from where he stood. The distance offered a buffer, an excuse to look at Ginny while her focus was diverted. Her full attention, as much as he craved it, burned like a spotlight, as if looking back would be too intense. She was laughing at whatever exchange Neville and Luna were having, and he suddenly wished he had been the one to make her laugh.

What was she doing here? Why wasn’t she coming over? Was she avoiding him?

“Got you a pint,” Ron said. 

Questions burned inside him, but Harry dragged his eyes away from Ginny and accepted the chilled glass gratefully. He willed himself to focus on his best mate. Since Ron left the Aurors to help George with the shop, Harry never seemed to see him nearly as much, especially now that he had moved in with Hermione. The flat wasn’t as enjoyable without Ron, and without Ron, there wasn’t as much reason for Hermione to stop by constantly.

“Neville said you took on yet another one of those overnight stakeouts. What are you still doing, taking those shite shifts?” Ron asked. 

“Can’t have them thinking this promotion is getting to my head,” Harry said, conveniently excluding how he had volunteered. His eyes darted to Ginny before focusing again on his friends.

Ron and Hermione shared a look.

“You’ve been working an awful lot, Harry,” Hermione said. 

“There’s a new important case,” Harry said, taking a long drink.

“They’re always important,” she pointed out. “Harry, you know that it doesn’t all fall on your shoulders…”

Harry swallowed hard, shrugging. The new potential promotion had started up those “Boy Who Lived” nepotism whispers around the office again. Neville was great, but it wasn’t the same as having Ron there.

“Mum missed you the last few Sundays,” Ron said. 

“It wasn’t just work,” Harry blurted out stupidly. He felt a jolt in his stomach, but he couldn’t say that he had trouble going over to the Weasleys’ after shagging their precious daughter. He took another drag of his drink.

“Were you on a date?” Hermione asked, eyebrows lifted.

Harry choked and sputtered. “No!”

“It’s not such an outlandish idea. You haven’t really gone out since Diane.”

He left out a frustrated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yes, well we know how well that went.”

He had not been interested in dating after the war. It wasn’t until two years after that he even went on a date or two, but time had not magically improved his abilities with women. Dates always went awry. They were too in awe, came on too strong, or...well, they could be perfectly fine, really, but he simply couldn’t sustain his interest. Not that they seemed to find him any better. They would complain about the hours he put into work (sorry if he would rather find a missing kid than go to some concert for some popular musician he didn’t know of), the fact that Ron and Hermione were always _there_ , usually accumulating to some loud accusation about how emotionally unavailable he was. Then when the press caught wind of his dating, splashing it all over the front pages, finding someone decent to keep him company when Ron and Hermione had their alone time all the harder.

Even Harry had started to wonder after two more years of disastrous dates if he was hopeless. If he couldn’t help but prefer those few, stolen moments at the Burrow laughing until his sides hurt with a particularly sassy Weasley.

Then, when working on a case that required interoffice collaboration, he had met Diane, an Unspeakable very much dedicated to her work. A pretty brunette who was known to make a scathing remark now and again, unlike many of the other women he had dated. He had tried. Really, really tried. He researched and took her on proper dates (not just the pub), brought her flowers, remembered important dates, tried to make time. They stayed over at each other’s place now and again. 

It was...nice.

His eyes strayed past Ron’s shoulder once again to Ginny, who looked impossibly effervescent. They flickered back to his now empty glass.

But it wasn’t right.

“It worked for a while,” Hermione said encouragingly. “I’m sure if you put yourself out there again —”

“I’m going to get a refill,” Harry said. “Shall I get you something?”

“Yeah, thanks mate.” Ron smiled at him, pulling Hermione closer, who seemed to let the topic go despite the conflicted, concerned look on her face.

“I’m fine, Hermione,” Harry said with a fond smile.

He headed over to the bar and greeted Hannah, who promptly filled several new glasses. Three drinks balanced in his hands, Harry turned to survey the room. Unable to hold back, he glanced over to where Ginny was. Except she wasn’t there anymore. Alarm rang through him as he looked around for the tell-tale long mane of fiery hair, but he couldn’t find her anywhere.

Did she leave without saying anything? Was this how it was going to be from now on? Awkward avoidance? Loneliness?

He nearly jumped out of his skin when a shoulder brushed up against his.

“I was wondering if you were going to say hi.”

The sound of her voice, so close to his ear, sent heat coursing through him like wildfire. But it was immediately doused by the cold liquid down his front. 

“ _Shite_!” he swore, fumbling to prevent further frothy Butterbeer spillage.

Ginny’s laughter beside him didn’t help, but he was grateful for an excuse for how flushed he must look. 

“Didn’t mean to take you by surprise,” she said, casting a quick _Scourgify_. 

“Thanks,” he mumbled, daring to finally really look at her. She was leaning against the bar, her hair spilling over her shoulder, catching the light. Her eyes bright with mirth, she bit down on her lightly stained lower lip, trying to suppress her laughter, her face a pleasant rosy glow.

“So?” she asked, arching a perfect eyebrow.

“What?” he asked stupidly, afraid she had caught him staring at her lips. 

“Were you going to say hi?” The hesitancy in her smile didn’t match the playfulness in her voice.

“Yeah,” he said forcefully, and something flickered in her eyes. “Yes, I was.”

“Good.” Her stance relaxed. “Ron and Hermione weren’t sure you’d pull yourself away from work to show up. Something about another stakeout?”

Had she come knowing he might be here?

“Would have done a better job of getting here on time if I had known a rising Quidditch star would be gracing us with her presence.”

Her low throated laugh sent tingles of pleasure down his spine.

“Didn’t realize I was so special.” Her eyes danced with warmth.

_Believe me, you are._

“Hi, Ginny! You two need anything else?” Hannah appeared, her cheeks ruddy from running about filling orders.

“I’ll have another of the house red,” said Ginny.

“I need a new drink. Er — actually, make it a Firewhiskey instead,” he said on impulse, needing something to dull his nerves.

Hannah blinked but smiled. “Sure thing.”

“Get him the good stuff,” Ginny said, leaning closer. Harry swallowed hard, getting far too appealing of a view of her assets.

Hannah laughed and nodded, heading to the storage room.

“Having a hard night?” Ginny asked.

Harry cleared his throat roughly. “Something like that.”

“Nothing too bad, I hope?” She peered at him, a seriousness in her eyes that put him at ease. She understood without him having to explain the pressure of being the Chosen One. If things went awry, he always took it harder than the rest.

“No, nothing too bad,” he said with a smile. 

“I’m glad.” She placed her hand on his arm and gave him a comforting squeeze.

His chest tightened. Ginny seemed like her usual self. In a way, he was grateful. It was as if nothing had happened between them. But was that what he wanted? 

“When did you get back?” Harry asked as casually as he could.

“Tuesday. I had dinner with Ron and Hermione the other night,” she said.

He swallowed back the urge to ask why anyone (Ginny) hadn’t told him. Not that she would ever alert him to when she was in town, which was inconsistent and varied a lot depending on the Harpies’ schedule. So really, it wasn’t strange that no one (Ginny) hadn’t said anything to him.

Because they were just friends. 

“The team came back to wrap up some publicity events. I reckoned the little time I had in-between I would give my dear brother and future sister a visit. Help out as the maid of honor.” 

As the best man, Harry would see more of her, wouldn’t he? Did that mean she would be in town often? Did it matter? Ginny had made that abundantly clear when Harry had tried to ask to see her again last time that anything more than platonic was out of the question.

Ginny’s face brightened when Hannah came back holding a glass of Blishen's Firewhisky, its contents giving off a fiery glow. “Thanks Hannah!”

They started weaving through the crowd again, heading back to Ron and Hermione. He watched her long red hair dancing behind her.

“There you are,” Ron said as they approached. “What took you?”

“Harry had a bit of an accident,” Ginny answered with a cheeky grin. “Couldn’t contain his excitement at seeing a famous Quidditch player.”

Harry reddened under the insinuation, glancing at Ron. _Did he know?_

Ron scoffed. “I bet you snuck up on him. She was always doing that. Anything to get a rise out of us.” He shrugged. “Little sisters.”

Harry banged his knee against the table as a jolt of fear ran through him, the drinks on the table jostling noisily. Steadying the glasses, Hermione gave him a curious look.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, wondering why he chose to get out of bed today. 

“I thought Aurors were agile and couldn’t be snuck up on,” Ginny said.

“Maybe if Harry weren’t practically dead on his feet,” Hermione said.

“I think you need to loosen up, mate. You don’t fall asleep in the office still, do you?” Ron frowned. 

Harry flushed. “I’m _fine_.” 

“Careful or you’re going to end up like Harry,” Ron said, looking at Ginny. “You fell asleep on the couch right after dinner the other night.”

Harry hadn’t noticed the darkness under her eyes or how tense her body was until then.

“I’m fine.” She rubbed her forehead, her brow furrowing.

“You two.” Hermione shook her head. 

“Hermione’s all about work, but even she fits in some play.” Ron bumped hips with his fiance, who blushed.

“Not all of us are so lucky,” Harry said dryly.

But Ron and Hermione seemed to be sending each other not so subtle glances and smiles, still clearly basking in their recent engagement glow. Ginny’s eyes slid over and met Harry’s over the rim on her glass, both of them holding back their amusement. 

“I suppose we’re two hopeless cases,” Ginny agreed.

“I guess so.” 

“At least we can keep each other company,” she said, lightly bumping his shoulder against his.

Warmth spread in his chest.

She glanced down at his untouched drink. “Are you going to try it?”

“Oh. Uh, yeah.” His mouth went dry at the look in her eye. He tipped the glass to his lips. He welcomed the burning sensation down his throat and pooled into his stomach.

“Easy there,” Ron said when Harry coughed. 

“I’m trying to loosen up.” Harry swiped at his mouth.

“How is it?” Ginny asked.

“Good. Do you, uh, want a taste?” he heard himself ask. “Apparently we both need to relax.”

Merlin, was he flirting? He wondered if his face looked as hot as it felt. At least he could blame the drink.

“Sure.”

He swallowed hard and as he slid the glass over to her. 

“Thanks.”

Harry watched, mesmerized, as she tipped the glass back, the amber liquid swirling. She closed her eyes, savoring the taste. His breath caught in his throat when she opened them, a blazing look in her eyes.

“Thanks for the recommendation.”

“What are friends for?” Ginny asked, holding his gaze as she held out the glass to him. Desire curled up in his stomach.

He reached over, feeling his heart skip a beat when his fingers brushed against hers. 

“Drinking isn’t a solution,” Ron said, leaning in to kiss Hermione.

Harry barely heard him, however, as Ginny pushed away from the table.

“I need a bit of a reprieve from this,” she said, gesturing toward Ron and Hermione.

“Be sure to say goodbye before you go,” Ron said. 

Harry tracked Ginny as she made her way toward the loo. She tossed her hair over her shoulder and she glanced back, her gaze lingering on him for a beat longer than necessary. Arousal shot through him.

Was that — was she —?

“…okay, Harry?”

“Hmm?” Harry blinked. “Oh, er, yeah. Sure.”

Ron raised an eyebrow and Harry reddened, grateful as always that Ron couldn’t perform Legilimency. 

“I didn’t think you’d agree so easily.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Harry said absently, taking another drink from his glass, appreciating the excuse for his flushed appearance and the thumping courage in his veins. 

Hermione started talking about some topic at work, the latest law she was trying to get pushed through in support of house-elves. Harry feigned interest, but the entire time he was on pins and needles, wondering if he had imagined Ginny’s suggestive look out of wishfulness. Maybe she really was going to the loo.

“Harry.” Hermione was giving him a strange look.

“Hm?” Harry straightened guiltily. 

“You’re bouncing all over the place.”

“Oh — sorry.” On impulse, Harry finished his drink, the burning sensation invigorating him. “I’ll be back. I, uh, spilled a drink earlier at the bar and need to…”

He made a gesture toward his clothes.

“Okay,” Ron said, bemused. 

As slowly as he could will himself to move, Harry maneuvered through the crowd, following the direction where Ginny had disappeared. 

It had been a one-time (two-time) thing, and that was it, right? He ran his hand through his hair nervously. The banter was just that, right? Not real flirting despite the double entendres he kept hearing. He was probably wishfully imagining things. 

His heart sank at the empty corridor. 

He had gotten it wrong. He had seen things that weren’t there —

A door he hadn’t noticed opened, and a hand shot out to pull him into a small, enclosed space. By instinct, Harry pressed the person against the wall, his wand out.

“So you really are an Auror,” Ginny said, raising her hands. 

“Ginny! Sorry!” Harry hastily withdrew his wand. With only the slight slivers of light from the door’s cracks, he could make out the outline of her face. It was rather close, given the tight quarters. “This is a…”

“Broom cupboard, yeah,” Ginny confirmed with a hint of pride.

Suddenly all those daydreams from sixth year of being in a cramped cupboard with her, her hands in his hair, his mouth roaming her skin rushed to him. Of course, those dreams hadn’t included the rush of noise outside or the various brooms and cleaning supplies, but they also couldn’t hold a candle to the heat radiating from her and the smell of her sweet hair all around him.

“The two of us sound pretty _hopeless._ ” Her hand touched his chest and slowly trailed downward. “So I thought…”

His heart hitched at her words, the alcohol and situation making his head spin lightly.

“I thought last time — maybe should we talk?” 

Ginny stepped closer and pressed up against him. His knees bumped against something. All coherent thoughts vanished as he tumbled onto the low bookshelf stocked with what seemed to be cleaning supplies behind him, bringing Ginny down with him.

“We could,” she murmured into his ear. She leaned into him and brushed her lips against his neck. “Or we could…use our mouths another way.”

“Ginny,” Harry said, his voice strangled. “Sorry —!” 

He began to pull her away, but she moved closer. Her fingers ran through in his hair to knead the knot in his neck from holding the same position for hours during the stakeout. He groaned in pleasure.

“I want this,” she said, the dim light flickering in her dark eyes. “I want you to make me feel better. What do you want, Harry?”

The edge of his desire was sharpened by the desperate voice in his head.

_Last time wasn’t the end._

“This. I want this,” Harry confessed, giving in. It felt too good to be true. The past three weeks of misery were like nothing compared to the possibility of being with her again. 

Ginny made a sound of approval as she pulled his collar toward her. Her kiss was hot and demanding, and Harry was more than willing to give. He gripped her tightly, the pressure of her against him maddening. At the annoying press of his glasses against his nose, he removed them with a growl.

She leaned him further into the tight quarters, his shoulders banging lightly against what appeared to be a mop handle. But all he could focus on was the thrill as he tasted the bittersweet taste and heat of the wine that clung to her lips and tongue. The mixture of it and Ginny made his mind go fuzzy.

His fingers, which seemed to have a life of their own, delved daringly under her jumper, trailing up her warm, soft skin. At her sigh, he reached up further, inside her bra, and cupped her breast. He rubbed her nipple, feeling it stiffen under his touch. He never wanted to stop touching her.

Her hands reached down, tackling his belt. Harry moaned, his other hand moving up her skirt to find her gloriously wet. He distracted her by slipping his fingers over her clit. His chest ached when she jerked and strained against his hand. He pulled her closer, and the pad of his thumb continued to rub against her while slowly sliding a finger into her. She bit down on her lip as he found a pace that made her arch toward him.

Holding back her cries only seemed to intensify the look on her face. Harry swelled with awe when she trembled at his touch.

When Ginny opened her eyes, her blazing look took his breath away.

Her lips curled up triumphantly as she freed him from his trousers, wrapping her hand around him like a dare. He made a noise, still not really believing she was here. As if she heard this thought, she drew him close, kissing him, the noises erupting from her throat vibrating against him. 

“Harry,” Ginny mumbled against his lips. The sound of his name in that voice shot straight to his groin.

He wanted her to say it again and again.

“Inside,” she said. “I want you inside me.”

He whimpered, skimming his lips against her exposed neck.

“Contraception charm?” he had enough mental capacity to pant out as she pushed away his hand.

She shook her head. “Already done.”

A thrill of hope shuddered through him. Maybe she had wanted this as much as he had.

But then Ginny was straddling him, and he simply couldn’t breathe. She looked so glorious, the dim light shining around her hair like a halo, heat radiating off her. Watching him, she guided him inside her. Garbled nonsense fell from his lips as he was consumed by her hot tightness around him. 

Tantalizingly slowly, she took all of him deep inside her, a sound escaping from her throat. Every nerve in his body on fire with the heat that coursed through him.

Harry had tried so hard the past few weeks to bury the memories of touching her, being touched by her, the feel of her around him, that the last time surged forth like a broken fuse, elevating all the pleasure at the moment.

 _Not the end, not the end_ , his mind chanted as Ginny shifted her hips and rode him. 

Harry’s heart swelled. Whatever this was hadn’t been just the one (two) times — whatever this was, this mind-numbing miracle ( _that she could want him half as much as he craved her_ ) made him choke with emotion.

Her breath was hot against his ear, matching his heavy pants, the sound amplified in the small space. She set the pace, alternating from agonizingly slow to shallow and quick, teasing and torturing him to no end. He pushed up her jumper and bra, exposing her breasts for him to kiss.

Ginny threw her head back, allowing him greater access. He reached between them, fumbling until he heard the hitch in her breath. He clenched his jaw and focused on her, wanting to be able to hear the build-up of her pleasure, wanting her to feel how good she made him feel. 

His throat narrowed when her hand cradled his head against her shoulder in a way that could almost seem tender.

“ _Oh_ ,” Ginny gasped, her entire body tensing. The drumming pressure and pleasure building at the base of his back were becoming too much. When she clenched tightly around him, he gritted his teeth to maintain his control, trying to focus on her nails digging into his shoulders, desperate to make this fleeting moment last.

Suddenly the fevered fantasies of his sixth year surged forth: clenching himself in his hand, dreaming, wishing it were her hand, or that he was sliding in and out of her — then the hollow ache of coming back to reality, knowing she wasn’t really there. That she didn’t really want him.

“Ginny,” Harry breathed, his voice strangled. 

His hand reached for her, cupping her flushed face, but it was something inside him that was searching for her in the darkness. He needed proof that this was real, that he wouldn’t wake up by himself in his room, alone like always. 

_Not the end._

“Harry!” Ginny cried as he thrust up into her, her legs locking him close, forcing him deep. She kissed him, her soft lips pressed hard against his, her tongue sliding over them. By instinct, he parted his lips and her tongue slipped in, hot and sweet. 

He lost himself in her, let her body hold him, let himself believe for a moment that he’s come this far since sixth year, from those days of watching her joke and laugh and fly from the corner of his eye, wondering if there was the faintest, slimmest, wildest chance that maybe, possibly, one day, she could want him too.

None of his fantasies came even remotely close to the real thing.

He held her close, trying to catch his breath and steady his heart. Harry slumped against the wall, completely relaxed. Her comfortable warmth against him kept him floating off. Finally, he opened his eyes to see Ginny grinning in such a mischievous way that he couldn’t help but grin back. 

“Well, I feel much, _much_ better.” Her soft laughter rumbled against him, her fingers splayed lazily against his chest.

His hand went up to cover hers.

“Me too.”

Harry felt the weight of her gaze, wishing he could make out more of her face.

She closed the distance between them, her warm lips lingering gently against his. A nearly painful pressure built up in his chest. When he moved to deepen the kiss, she moved away. He hissed slightly as she pulled herself off him, the sensitivity overwhelming him. Longing surged up in him when she took her warmth with her. 

“Better get out of here before someone notices how long we’ve disappeared.”

Harry made a reluctant noise of acknowledgment, a sliver of fear creeping into his chest at the thought of Ron knowing what had transpired. His fingers itched to trail up her leg as she stood in front of him, adjusting her skirt and tidying up with a spell. He resisted by casting his own cleaning spell and _Accio_ for his glasses, which had clattered to the floor at some point.

“I’ll go first. Give me a head start?” Ginny reached for the handle, but her hand hovered mid-air. She glanced back at him, and he flushed, suddenly grateful for the dark. “Maybe we can do this again?”

“Yeah,” he said, hearing the surprise in his voice.

Harry caught a glimpse of her lips curved upwards as she exited.

His head fell back, thumping against the wall, knocking over a mop. Dazed, he raised his hand to his tingling lips, where a stupid smile was spreading across his face.

Whatever this was, at least it wasn’t over.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginny runs into someone unexpected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, what a rollercoaster the last few months have been. I got ridiculously stuck on this chapter, and my work life went up in flames, taking up 99% of my time. Thank you everyone for your amazing support! All the comments that came in during my long break have been so encouraging.
> 
> Special thank you to fightfortherightsofhouseelves and gryffindormischief, who were key to getting me unstuck!

“ _Ahh_ ,” Ginny cried out as Harry pressed her into the bed, his fingers sliding into her as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Her body was taut with need, her hands sliding around his back. She wanted to bring him closer, his familiar smell encompassing her with warmth and desire.

She could hardly remember the events that had led her back to him, as if the details were chased to the far corners of her mind. Instead, the feel of him, his lean and hard body pressed against hers, flooded her senses.

Would it make a difference? She had always been drawn to him, as if by a magnetic force.

Would it ever change?

“Ginny,” he said against her hot skin. He left a trail of kisses down the side of her neck as his fingers continued to move in a way that left her writhing and squirming, craving _more_.

“Harry,” she moaned.

He looked up from her collarbone. Without his glasses, his eyes were dark and possessive. “What do you want?”

She bit down on her lip hard as his thumb circled her clit. Her head fogged with need, making it hard to speak. “You know what I want.”

“Tell me anyway,” Harry said, his voice low and husky. 

Ginny fisted the bed sheets when his fingers slowed, the pressure of his thumb easing to a maddening whisper. She growled and strained against his hand, but he only chuckled, a slow rumbling against her. Heat flooded her chest, constricting her throat. She pushed down on the overwhelming feelings, turning her head away.

As if taking this as a sign, with a quiet sigh, he began to pull away. A dizzying fear blinded her.

_Don’t go._

“You,” she choked out, her hands releasing the sheets and reaching for him. “I want you.”

Harry’s eyes softened and shone in the low light. He moved close, pressing his forehead against hers, the comforting weight of him easing away the fear. “Was that so hard?”

He had no idea.

Without waiting for her to answer, he pulled his fingers away. She opened her mouth in protest, but it came out a gasp when she was suddenly filled with him. She wanted to hate how every time it felt too good to be true.

He groaned with her, his hand weaving through her hair. As he moved within her, he closed the gap between them and kissed her, deeply and intimately, making her mind go fuzzy. She let go of the sheets and wound her arms around him, letting herself melt into his embrace.

With each of his movements, her mind chanted, _don’t go, don’t go_ …

“Ginny,” he murmured against her lips, his voice like another gentle touch, “you have me —”

The loud rapping at the door jolted Ginny awake, though it was hard to distinguish over the painful thudding of her heart against her ribs and the unbearable aching between her legs. She tried to move but immediately met resistance. The bed sheets were twisted around her clammy legs. She gave a furious, futile kick.

_Damn it, damn it, damn it all to hell!_

Ginny let out of a strangled cry, pressing her flushed face into her pillow, drowning out the scream at the back of her throat.

What was she, fifteen once more?

Ginny had moved beyond her embarrassing crush. What an apt word: the way her feelings had broken her. Prevented her for so long from being herself. And she had promised never to let anything, even her own misguided feelings, stop her again. But apparently there would always be a weak part of her that couldn’t deny this gravitational pull towards Harry. It had dimmed and dulled, and she had grown so used to it that it had faded into the background to the point where it was small and easily ignorable, practically nonexistent. 

Over time, she had earned a spot as a real friend. Even if he never looked at her as anything more, she was okay with that. Even if it felt like there was a small part of her missing. Making him laugh, making him feel at ease seemed worth that small aching softness in her chest whenever she was near him.

But no, that idiotic night had undone everything. Now that repressed attraction had come roaring forth, burning through her with little regard to her carefully crafted logical barriers, no longer willing to be denied. And she was no better than a teenage girl with these humiliating flights of fancy.

“Stupid,” Ginny muttered to herself, covering her face with her hands.

It didn’t help that she was once again in London. She was only here for Harpies business, of course. She wasn’t going to see Harry. Ginny had made a point to stay away this time. 

Embarrassment surged forth when she thought of the Leaky Cauldron and the last time she saw him. She had spent weeks agonizing over their mistake of shagging one another in his kitchen. As good as it felt in the moment, it clearly had not been worth the storm of awkwardness that followed.

She had set out intending for the get-together to restore the equilibrium in their friendship, prove that they were still friends after everything.

She wasn’t going to lose him over this—over nothing. Over meaningless touches, misplaced desire, whims spurred by loneliness. 

No, Harry meant too much.

But when he had been late, her nerves got the better of her. One drink had turned into two as she wondered and waited, getting more vexed with him, herself, and the situation with every passing moment. When he had finally shown up, his hair looking ridiculously tousled in the most endearing way, irritation gave way to the rush of desire.

 _Friends_ , she reminded herself of what he had said. Friends even though he seemed to enjoy shagging her as much as she did him. What was it he had said that time in his kitchen? That she was fit and it wasn’t easy finding a good lay with all his fame. So the pub was probably just another fluke, a convenience.

The familiar twinge in her chest flared.

Why did everything always feel so one-sided when it came to Harry?

Ginny kicked off the bed sheets, the ache between her legs growing unbearable. No matter, she didn’t need him. She slipped her hand past the waistband of her knickers, biting down on her lip. Her imagination would suffice…

“ _Weasley_!” A loud voice boomed from behind the hotel door. “Are you up yet?”

Ginny barely held back the locker room swears.

“Yeah, I’ll be out in a sec!”

She just needed a moment…five minutes, max. Already she could picture Harry kneeling between her legs. She whimpered slightly at the thought of his mussed hair brushing against her thighs, his slightly flushed face, and dangerously glinting eyes. Her fingers continued down their original journey.

“Ginny,” he said, kissing her thighs.

She took in a sharp breath. Her heart began to race as he — 

“WEASLEY! You better be getting your sorry arse ready!”

Ginny let out a strangled, furious hiss. “I got it! I’m _UP_!” 

Tossing on a bathrobe, she headed towards the loo. A quick and cold shower would have to do.

* * *

Heat churned in Ginny’s stomach, setting her on edge. The icy shower had only momentarily dampened the desire. It didn’t help that on the way from the hotel to the photoshoot for new Holyhead Harpies posters, she had mistaken not one, but two people for a certain someone.

Mounting a broom had done her no favors. It would be different if this were a game, but posing and pretending to fly only increased her ire. Try as she might, she couldn’t quite push the image of heated green eyes out of her mind. 

At least, mercifully, the photographer hadn’t seemed to mind. In fact, as she finally dismounted, she swore she heard him chattering about some sort of “blazing look” that would certainly sell well — whatever that meant. Thankfully it was over.

Now she just had to find some bloody form of relief.

“Weasley!”

“What?” Ginny snapped. Mary, one of the team’s Beaters, simply raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry. Woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”

“No kidding,” Mary said dryly, leaving no question that her mood had been more than apparent. “Listen, we’re heading to the pub. We’ve got some time before we need to meet in the lobby to head back. You can come along, blow off some steam…”

Ginny forced a smile, not sure whom she was more annoyed with. “Thanks, but I’ll pass."

“You sure? Really seems like you could use it.” Mary gave her a meaningful look. Ginny flushed at the insinuation. “There were quite a few blokes last time who were more than willing.”

“I’m good. I’ve got plans,” Ginny lied. Going back to her room to take care of unfinished business counted, right?

“All right,” Mary said, wiggling her eyebrows. “Just be sure to be back in time."

Ginny smiled and waved until Mary and the others were out of sight. She heaved a sigh as she made her way through Diagon Alley. On a weekend, the shopping area was packed, witches and wizards bustling by with their recently purchased goods. She began weaving her way through the crowd. She didn’t have to go far to get back to the hotel, where she could finally deal with the relentless ache that had plagued her all day.

_Or you could go visit someone…_

Ginny nearly stumbled over a cobblestone. She was absolutely not visiting anyone — certainly not after she had brazenly thrown herself at Harry last time.

 _He wasn’t complaining_ , that annoying voice pointed out.

Stubborn annoyance flashed through her. Even if Harry seemed to enjoy the arrangement, it wasn’t as if he had sought her out. Over the past three days, she had already seen her parents, Hermione, Ron, George, and even Percy. Surely he would have heard she was in town, and yet — nothing.

Ginny kicked a rock hard, watching it skitter down the road. Clearly he wasn’t thinking about her the way she was him. She should go back to her hotel and take care of her little problem by herself and be done with it.

She looked up, realizing she was near Flourish and Blotts, which was in the opposite direction of her hotel. With a scowl, she whipped around with a determined stride.

Of course, given how her day had been going, it was just her luck to walk straight into someone, getting an uncomfortable face full of robes.

“Sorry!” Hands came up to steady her.

“No, I—” Ginny stopped, slowly looking up in surprise. A familiar, equally surprised face stared back at her.

“Ginny,” Dean said, several emotions seeming to run over his face at the same time. “You’re in town.”

Ginny bit back a dry remark about his keen observation skills. “Yes, I am.”

He quickly let go of her and took a step back. “Sorry about that.”

“No, I’m sorry. I wasn’t watching where I was going,” she said, feeling discomfort rise in her. The last time they had seen each other was through their agreed breakup over the Floo. Those last few weeks, months really before they ended things had been tense.

Dean seemed to be thinking of something else to say. “What are you here for?”

“Work,” she said. 

“A game?” He looked confused. “I didn’t realize the season started yet.”

She shook her head. “No, it hasn’t yet.”

When she didn’t offer anything else on the topic, Dean shuffled his weight from foot to foot. “I, ah, heard you were here a few weeks ago. For Ron and Hermione’s party. I wasn’t able to make it.”

“I know.” Obviously. Because she had been there, as he had pointed out. 

She couldn’t help but glance wistfully over his shoulder – a minute sooner and she could have been on her way back to the hotel to deal with the niggling problem.

“Right.” Dean sighed and shook his head, offering a small smile that seemed to break through some of the awkwardness. “Look, do you…” he began, giving her a strange look.

“Yes?” 

“Do you want to grab a coffee?” Dean quirked his head toward a nearby coffee shop. “Catch up?”

“Oh.” She looked dumbly at the shop. Her body strummed with frustrated desire.

 _It’s not like you had wanted to run into anyone else, right?_ a wicked voice taunted her.

“If you have the time,” Dean said when she hesitated.

An excuse was on the tip of her tongue, but there was something in the way he was holding himself, the determination in his face.

“Yeah, that’d be nice,” she heard herself say. 

After all those years together, she could at least hear him out. 

They walked towards the shop together. Ginny reached the door handle first and pulled it open for him, but Dean, in his typical Dean way, simply reached up and held the door open for her first. She had to stifle the overly familiar annoyance at his gesture (as if she couldn’t open a bloody door by herself) and walked in. 

She nearly tripped over her own feet when she saw a gleam off of familiar glasses. But no, at a closer look, it was a bloke with brunette hair, rectangular frames, and a long nose, chatting with some burly fellow. She pressed her hand to her chest, willing her heart to calm down.

Dean caught her arm as if to steady her again.

Ginny shrugged him off, not sure if she was more irritated with herself or him. “I’m fine.”

 _So stupid,_ she thought, her cheeks heating up miserably.

He frowned and shoved his hand in his pocket before glancing around to see what had made her falter. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” she said automatically, forcing a smile through her embarrassment. 

He eyed her skeptically but seemed to swallow something back, choosing instead to shake his head and staring hard at the menu.

A familiar feeling crept up in her, but she pushed it down and also focused on the menu, fuming to herself. Great, her sexual frustration was making her see things. Not every bespectacled git was Harry. Not that she was thinking of him. Clearly. 

They ordered a cup of tea and settled at a table. As she sipped hers, she met his pensive gaze.

“You look good,” Dean said after a beat. 

Ginny shrugged. It was probably the leftover Glamours from the shoot.

“You do too.” To her surprise, she really meant it. 

Dean had always been good-looking. She had been pleased during those D.A. meetings her fourth year when he began to notice her. Over the last few months (perhaps years if she were being completely honest) leading up to their break-up, when they hardly saw one another, things had been strained. Her building annoyance and detachment had colored every time he showed up, whether in person or via Floo.

But now, looking at him, Ginny realized that Dean did look happy. Much happier than she had seen him in a long time. She had become so used to his strained expressions, she had forgotten what he looked like, unburdened.

He took a long drag of his tea, the warm steam curling around his face as he seemed to mull over something. When he set his cup down, he met her gaze, cautious but determined.

“I’m with Seamus now.”

 _With? As in…_

Ginny blinked. She thought back to when the three of them would spend time together, especially after the war. The way Seamus had worried himself sick during that year when no one knew where Dean was. The way Dean would sometimes look at Seamus when he thought no one else noticed. 

_Oh._

He eyed her closely, as if not sure how to gauge her reaction or lack thereof.

“Okay,” she said finally.

He frowned. “You’re not mad?”

“Mad?” It wasn’t as if this was about her, was it? Or about their time together. “Why would I be? Did you get together before we broke it off?”

He let out a breath. “Of course not.”

“And even if you did, I…” She trailed off, her mind drifting to those last distant, strained months before they broke up, over Floo no less. She lifted her shoulder. “I wouldn’t hold it against you. We weren’t all that together near the end.”

Dean’s smile was both sad and grim. “Yeah.”

“You’ve always been close. How did it happen, if you don’t mind me asking?”

To her amusement, his cheeks warmed.

“I hadn’t been feeling super great after things started to…you know.”

Ginny winced. 

“He was there for me, you know? I guess he always had been, and I…” The smile on his face was brimming with such affection. “It kind of just happened. It’s been great.” 

She swallowed hard at the sharp pang of loneliness in her chest. Which was ridiculous — because the person she wished would smile at her like that wasn’t Dean.

He cleared his throat as if catching himself. 

“If you’re happy, which you clearly seem to be, I’m glad.”

His eyes searched hers again before his smile relaxed into a real one. “Yeah, thanks. I’m happy for you too.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you got what you always wanted right? You’re a professional Quidditch player.” His face remained neutral, but there was a slight undercurrent in his voice.

As they fell silent, the heaviness of their past hung heavily between them. 

During her last year at Hogwarts, Dean had written countless letters to her, recounting every detail from the past year. It had gotten to the point where the arrival of a new letter made her feel physically ill.

They had been an invitation. To confide, to be a confidant, to comfort, to heal.

Ginny had resented his pressing, as if the more he divulged, the likelier she would crack herself open for him. 

In response, she had written letter after letter about Quidditch, the plays, the tryouts. 

It had been easier when they were together, physically. She’d let their bodies do the talking. After all, she’d had nothing to say about the year with Carrows, no matter how much Dean had urged, no matter how much hurt had reflected in his eyes when she turned away. Over time, it had become harder to distract him from asking, pleading, wanting.

She’d started begging off visiting — Portkeys were expensive, she was on the reserve team and didn’t have the money, she had to be up early, she was exhausted from practice. She wanted to practice more. She wanted to bond with the other girls. He would offer to visit instead, not that he had much expendable cash, even with the commissions coming in, and even then she would argue with him. She had flatmates, after all.

Ginny could still taste the relief in her mouth when they had ended things.

“We didn’t work out. That’s okay,” Dean said, though there was something in his voice that made her wonder if it really was. Not that he still had feelings for her, but his face scrunched up in that way it used to when he grappled with whether he wanted to say something. “I just — it felt like…something was holding you back. Like a part of you wasn’t always there.” 

Ginny felt the familiar iciness trickle into her chest.

He smiled sadly, shrugging. “It made me angry for a long time, but I reckon I was equally to blame, wanting something you couldn’t give.”

“Dean…”

Somehow the words left a ringing hollowness inside her.

“Don’t make that face,” he said. He took her hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Maybe it was the distance. Maybe it was just too hard to connect when we were living such different lives.”

He was giving her an out, even now.

“And you have that, with Seamus?”

The probing look in his eye made her want to pull her hand away, but she forced it to stay.

“Yeah,” he said, the unfiltered affection in his voice, the openness in his face nearly making her cringe. 

She could see them together, opening up to one another, their words and feelings pouring out. The image made her dizzy and petrified, as if their emotions were cascading her way, seething around her like water, like ink.

Ginny felt her body stiffen, a wave of terror nearly blinding her.

“Anyway,” Dean said, his voice sounding distant, “thanks for talking. I wanted to let you know about—you know, from me.” Dean rose from his seat. He hesitated a moment but leaned in to give her a peck on the cheek. “Good luck, Ginny. See you around.”

“See you, Dean.” She gave him a weak smile, and then he was gone. 

She stared vacantly at his empty seat, which seemed to stare back at her, the buzzing in her ears growing slowly stronger.

Would it have been different, if she’d seen him more in-person? Would she have let him in then?

No. He wouldn’t, couldn’t understand.

_Hello, Ginny. My name is Tom._

A shudder ran down her spine. 

It was as if her body had been filled with ice. Her fingers had turned white, curled around her cup. She closed her eyes, blocking out the handsome, pale face of a ghost with gleaming eyes, trying to ignore the yawning void that threatened to consume her.

A hand bumped into her, breaking her from her trance. 

“You look – are you okay?”

She aimed a sharp glare towards the unwelcome stranger. 

“Get lost,” she snapped, causing him to flinch back. She had several other choice words to say, but they died in her mouth when she found herself looking at the brunette bloke who had originally caught her attention. But what made her stop was the strangely familiar look in his eye — one of nerve-wracking recklessness, the flash of hurt at words. And the way he clenched his jaw and seemed to be bracing for impact.

“Sorry,” he muttered gruffly.

As he started to turn away, something like a realization struck her. Without thinking, Ginny reached out, her fingers catching the end of his robe with the same swiftness she’d used to snatch the Snitch from under Cho’s nose.

“ _Harry_?” 

Now he really did look like a floundering fish, which of course only confirmed her intuition.

“How?” His hand went up to his face as if to check his appearance.

A small laugh escaped her lips as she leaned back into her chair, her body suddenly flooded with relief. Only then did she realize she had half stood to grab hold of him. “It _is_ you. What are you doing?”

Much of the tension seemed to ease from his shoulders as he too cracked a smile and fell into the seat beside her. “Er, Auror work. Occasionally we use disguises. Helps when I don’t have a scar on my face. What gave it away?”

“You had a pretty distinctive Harry-like expression.”

Harry frowned, the corners of his mouth turning in a sullen way that she almost laughed again.

“Oh Merlin,” she gasped, trying to stifle her giggles. “There it is again. This is giving me flashbacks.”

“Yeah?” He shot her a befuddled look, and it really was ridiculous how adorable it made him — even if it wasn’t exactly his face.

“Oh yes, _cousin Barny_ ,” Ginny said with a sly grin.

“Oh God,” he groaned, but he smiled reluctantly at her teasing.

“The red hair and splotchy skin still couldn’t hide your trademark scowl. Had it on even when Viktor Krum was talking to you. Oh — yes, that’s it, exactly!”

He batted away her finger in a very Harry-like manner, though she could tell he wasn’t really upset. But instead of simply pushing her away, his fingers curled over hers.

“And then we danced,” Harry said. There was something in the way his strangely blue eyes burned that made her breath catch in her throat.

“We did,” she said, hoping her voice sounded light. After a vexed-looking Krum had left, Ginny had taken pity on Cousin Barny, or so she had told herself. And she hadn’t been secretly amused in the least when he had stared a little longer than necessary at the low cut of her dress. 

“Your mum was doing whatever she could to stop us,” Harry said softly. “But I knew you understood. You didn’t tell me not to do it or to be careful.”

“I knew you wouldn’t be happy if you weren’t hunting Voldemort.” She met his gaze head-on, holding back _that’s probably why I like you so much._

Staring at Harry’s Glamoured face made her remember how the Polyjuice Potion had made him look strange when they were dancing, the warm light bathing over his foreign face. He had been closer, closer than she had ever remembered. 

“Ginny,” he had murmured in a stranger’s voice with unrecognizable emotion.

For a ridiculous moment, Ginny had thought he would kiss her. 

Of course, he hadn’t. Her passing fancy had been broken when Kingsley’s Patronus had burst into the tent, and all hell had broken loose. Someone had knocked them apart. She thought she had heard him call her name, but she had never been sure. When she’d looked back, he had been lost to the chaos. 

She hadn’t known if she would see him again.

“Are you…?”

“What?” Ginny blinked back the memories, only catching a few of his words.

A fleeting look crossed Harry’s Glamoured face before he looked away, his cheeks heating. “Sorry, it’s none of my business. I just…”

“It was a long time ago,” she said, feeling embarrassed herself. That memory probably hadn’t meant much to him, even if it had been a source of comfort during that awful year. “I should be over it.”

“You don’t always have control over those things,” Harry said quietly, staring resolutely at the empty mug in front of him.

She tried to retrace the conversation. “Harry, what…?” 

He seemed to be struggling with something before he glanced back, tentative and unsure. “When I saw you both, I was just going to go, especially since you two have—” he faltered “—gotten back together?”

It suddenly dawned on her that Harry must have seen her and Dean. Ginny tried to imagine how she and Dean might have appeared. 

Harry’s eyes shone brightly. “I was going to go and make it easy for you since you and I—we’re not—”

Her heart squeezed painfully.

He rushed on, his brows knit in concern. “But then you looked—off, and so I wanted to make sure you were okay. You know, as a friend,” he finished lamely as if he felt guilty for the non-friend activities of late.

Of course. That’s what he had been saying from the start. Friends.

“Harry, Dean and I aren’t back together,” she said, grateful for the steadiness in her voice.

“No?” Harry straightened, his eyes intent.

“Definitely not.” Ginny gave him a wry smile. “In fact, he’s with someone else now.” 

“Then he’s an idiot,” he immediately bristled.

Despite everything, a small part of her warmed.

“No, it’s better this way. I wasn’t really…I’m not very good girlfriend material,” she said, waving her hand.

His eyes narrowed as his scowl returned. “I highly doubt that.”

She gave Harry a small smile. Even if he didn’t want them to be more, that didn’t seem to stop him from being prepared to defend her.

“He’s happier,” Ginny admitted. “I couldn’t be what he needed.”

“You’re _Ginny Weasley_ ,” Harry said, leaning forward in his earnestness. He gazed intently into her eyes, as if willing her to understand the immensity of his statement. “You don’t have to be anything other than who you are.”

The back of her throat narrowed at his words.

Up close, she could smell the clean, woodsy smell that always flooded her chest with heat. Her hands yearned to reach out and touch him. It was never like this with Dean. 

And that was the problem. 

Harry wanted to be friends. But maybe until she got rid of this prickling tenderness whenever she was around him, maybe only then could she let these feelings finally go.

Harry, the skinny, kind boy in hand-me-down clothes, with his perpetually messy hair, his biting wit, who always seemed surprised to be included, who didn’t seem to know what to do when her mum held him. Harry, who deserved more than anyone to be happy, to feel _loved_.

A slow chill crept into her heart.

She wasn’t what he needed.

“Harry,” she breathed, overwhelmed by the sudden swell of emotions.

Ginny had always been so careful, making sure there was that distance between them. Not that Harry had ever really seemed to close that gap, aside from those moments at the Burrow when she’d get him laughing so hard that he clutched his sides and he’d lean into her for support. Not that she ever thought about those times.

But now, almost without realizing, they were close enough that Ginny could see the specks of green behind the Glamoured blue… A familiar heat stirred within her.

She watched as those eyes trailed down to her lips when she bit down.

Harry jolted, seeming to realize their proximity, his face flooding with color. He began to lean back when sharp words rang in her head.

_Don’t go._

Ginny’s hand reached out and held his.

She was being selfish, but she couldn’t bear the thought of him pulling away.

“I’m not back together with Dean, so… Do you want to get out of here?” Her thumb slowly dragged across his knuckle in a way that he could not mistake her meaning.

His eyes widened. She saw a flicker of hunger before it was clouded over with conflict and sadness. He tried to draw his hand away. “Ginny, I don’t – if you’re upset about Dean–”

“That’s not it,” she cut him off, her grip tightening. “This is…” She took a deep breath, forcing her fingers to let go. “This isn’t about Dean. But if you don’t want to, we don’t have to. It’s just – all day, I’ve needed some…relief.”

Something flashed in his eyes, even as Harry seemed to struggle with whether or not he believed her.

“Where do you want to go?” he asked finally, his voice rough.

“I have some time before I need to meet the rest of the team. I still have to get my things together, back at the hotel. It might be nice to look at you when you look more like yourself.” Despite her calm voice, she could hear the beating of her heart in her ears. “Like we said before, this is just friends helping each other out."

His eyes intently watched as her tongue flickered over her lips. “Yes. If that’s what you want.”

Together, they rose, not letting go of each other’s hands, barely breaking eye contact. She was afraid, almost, that if she looked away, the spell would break, and Harry would change his mind. 

Stepping out into the cold, Harry suddenly turned to her. “Ginny, when I saw you, this isn’t what I—”

She pressed her finger against his lips, not wanting to hear the rest. “Just hold me, Harry. I’ll Apparate us there.”

He opened his mouth to protest but shut it and nodded. Harry wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close and surrounding her in his heady scent that made everything soften and smolder. He rested his chin on the top of her head in a way that made her ache. Unable to help herself, she pressed closer, hoping he didn’t realize how her hands gripped his robes.

She felt the familiar tug at her navel as she turned her heel, watching as the scenery and Harry swirled into darkness.

Ginny wasn’t naive. This dream would fade away, and she’d wake up again, cold and alone. Staying too long was dangerous, a fine edge where she needed to pull back enough so that she’d be able to put herself back together after.

But with the feel of Harry in her arms, she couldn’t resist dreaming a little longer.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's imagination fails him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What better way to celebrate my birthday than by finally sharing a very self-indulgent chapter featuring my favorite angsty idiots?

The pitter-patter of the rain was interrupted by the noise of beating wings against the tent.

“One second,” Harry grumbled. He hurried over to unzip the tent opening, cringing when a tawny owl flew in, water scattering everywhere as it shook off its feathers. Wiping the moisture from his face, he reached into his pocket for a few treats before attempting to take the letter. He’d learned his lesson the first time.

As the owl nipped after the treats, Harry gazed at its tawny feather patterns. Before he left, he had told Hermione that her promised letters were unnecessary — excessive even. Another manifestation of her worry. But the mission had dragged on from one week to another. As Harry found himself trapped in a tent with nothing but the occasional disgruntled colleague exchanging shifts and rotten weather, soon the letters had become a much-needed reprieve.

The owl gave an appreciative hoot, finally satisfied enough to graciously allow Harry to untie the letter before it fluttered out the opening, back into the rough night. 

Unfurling the parchment, Harry began reading, expecting the usual summary about the latest infuriating law Hermione was set on fixing or how Ron and the shop were doing. He was woefully unprepared for when his eyes caught sight of Ginny’s name in Hermione’s deliberate writing. The neatly written words contrasted greatly with the storm that clamored in his chest.

He had missed seeing her yesterday apparently. He quickly scanned the letter for more details, but the letter barely mentioned her elsewhere and instead provided cursory updates on all the Weasleys, Andromeda, and Teddy. A pang of regret shot through him at the missed opportunity, a reminder of how rare it had become for her to be home and those days he had hoped with little reason for her to appear and light up the room with her wit.

Just seeing Ginny's name brought back their last encounter with vividness. The memory of her skin against his hands, the way her coppery hair fanned around her on the bed.

Harry climbed onto his cot, propping himself up on a pillow while deflating with a sigh. He skimmed over Hermione’s neat writing once more, apparently keen on tormenting himself.

_Ginny was at the Burrow today._

He retraced the words, letting them repeat in his mind, even as he let the letter slide off the edge of the cot. He stared up at the tent canvas, the sound of the rain beating to the same tempo of the words in his head. 

He tried to shut his eyes to it, to focus instead on the list of things he had to do tomorrow, the mission, all the very important reasons why he was stuck in a cold tent far, far away once again.

_Ginny was at the Burrow today._

Had she expected he would be there? His heart squeezed with painful hope.

Harry’s imagination began to run wild. He could see it — _him having been luckily discharged for some injury, severe enough to send him back from the field but not so bad he couldn’t make it to the Burrow. No, better yet, he had been sent back, and Molly had insisted he stay with them._

_And when Ginny heard of his condition, she burst into his room, looking far too pretty in her tight Quidditch kit. One look at him and she rushed to his side, weeping over his lifeless form, confessing all her feelings of deep attraction and affection._

_Her tears and words would wake him; he’d ask her what was wrong, and she would profess how when she was about to lose him, she realized that she wanted to be more than friends._

Harry groaned, realizing his traitorous hand was already lightly rubbing himself. His heart sped up at her imaginary words curling around his ear.

_The weight of her knees sinking into the bed made his breath catch in his throat. He would look at her, only to catch that blazing look in her eye, her fingers trailing up his thigh._

_Of course, she would insist on checking to make sure he was okay, every part of him…_

As he kicked off his trousers, it was as if she were the one peeling them off. When he was freed of them, he wrapped his hand around himself, imagining it was her hand, gentle yet firm.

This wasn’t the first time he had touched himself while thinking of her. It had been an unfortunate necessity starting his sixth year when wicked dreams of Ginny would wake him in such an embarrassing state, he didn’t have much of a choice but to take matters into his own hands.

God, it had been awful having to do it with her brother nearby. 

Worse still was when they were on the run the following year, in a tent with such tight living quarters. But even then, he hadn’t been able to help himself when there was so little to feel good about. 

When Ron had left, Harry had unfurled the Marauder’s Map to see if Ron had returned to Hogwarts. Like a moth drawn to a flame, he had immediately found her dot and traced over her name. Those cold, lonely nights, he would torment himself by staring at it until he gave into his wretched release, missing the way she would flick her plait over her shoulder right before a game, when she would bump elbows with him as she slid into the seat beside him, when her eyes lit up with mischief before she’d perform one of her flawless imitations, when he nearly recklessly kissed her in another’s body at the wedding, wondering if things would be different if he had someone else’s life. 

Harry bit down on his lip as he began stroking himself, pushing back those memories in lieu of what could have been this weekend.

_“Things seem to be in order,” Ginny said, her voice a low rumble, “but looks can be deceiving…”_

_She smiled deviously at him, her tongue flickering over her lips as her eyes roved his now miraculously naked body. She slowly stripped off her kit, the leather falling to the floor with satisfying thuds. She pulled her uniform over her head, revealing her devastatingly fit body._

Harry pressed his eyes shut tight as if to sharpen his imagination. A throbbing need pulsed through him. 

This was the first time he had touched himself while thinking of her since that fateful night they had celebrated Ron and Hermione’s engagement.

Before, his fantasies had been vague notions, nothing but an idea of how she might look at him with desire, what her lean, freckled legs in summer shorts felt like to touch, the wicked curve of her lips against his, her windswept red hair that reminded him of summer Quidditch days at the Burrow. Obscure, teasing dreams that woke him to embarrassment. All of these fantasies imprinted over the few actual experiences he’d had with others.

But now — now he _knew_. It wasn’t just hazy impressions. Now he knew what she tasted like. He could sense the whisper of her nimble fingers trailing down his chest. The teasing nibbling at his jaw. The tantalizing pressure of her hips against him, her hand wrapping around him to slowly take all of him in.

His breath grew ragged, coming in urgent bursts. This was so much worse than before because he _knew_ what she felt like, knew the scorching pleasure of being with her intimately.

_“Ginny,” he said, needing her closer as she straddled him from above. Caressing the hollow of her back, tracing the dip in her spine, feeling her arch toward him, her kiss-swollen lips forming a perfect oval._

Harry was unprepared for the dizzying joy and pleasure that overtook him. He whimpered, his muscles taut with longing, emotions clashing inside him.

 _He gripped her hips and flipped her over, pressing her against the bed, needing to show her, make her understand what she meant to him. A pressure built inside him, knowing she was wet for_ him. _She wanted_ him. _The look in her burning eyes as her nails bit into his biceps, telling him she was close._

“Ginny,” he breathed, speeding up his movements. 

_Harry could hear her breath catch in her throat when he sunk into her heat. The feel of her softness pressed up against his hard angles, the way her legs wrapped around him, pulling him ever closer._

He was nearly there.

_“Harry,” he heard the tremulous way his name tumbled from her lips, saw the glow across her cheeks, the vulnerability in her eyes. “I want you. I want to be more than friends. I lo—”_

Hot liquid flooding over his hand as blinding pleasure flooded his vision. 

He moaned, shaking slightly from small aftershocks of gratification, the hammering of his blood resounding in his ears. As the stickiness in his hand cooled uncomfortably, his heart gave such a sudden icy twinge that he gasped.

Harry was accustomed to the low aching loneliness that came from his solitary sessions, but he was completely unprepared for the roaring emptiness in his chest, sharper, keener than ever before.

Pushing through the agony radiating inside, he grabbed his wand and cleaned himself. Still, the cool sensations lingered over his skin, like a stain. He curled into himself, burying his face into the pillow, gritting his teeth against the pain. 

Was this what he would have to deal with from now on? Now that he had experienced the real thing, everything paled in comparison. Would he constantly be tormented by missed opportunities? What would happen if — _when_ — she decided she was done with this?

Maybe this was too much. Before, watching her from afar, a distant dream, was enough. But now the longing was unbearable, the monster ruthlessly tearing him apart from the inside. These haunting, lingering touches, each seared into his body, were all he would ever get. She might touch him, but she would never want anything more.

Maybe Harry needed to stop, to end it. It would only get worse. Perhaps he would never recover. 

But maybe it was already too late.

Harry fisted the cold, empty bedsheets beside him, trying to conjure the smell of flowers.

_Ginny was at the Burrow today._

* * *

Harry let out an annoyed groan, clutching his bruised side as he rolled over gingerly. How long had he been tossing and turning? Exhaustion tugged deep behind his eyes, but the pain in his side prevented him from finding a comfortable position. He glanced at the purple vial of Dreamless Sleep Draught before he pressed his fingers against the bridge of his nose.

A knock at the front door drew his attention away. Ron and Hermione making good on their threat to stop by, no doubt.

Heaving himself off his bed, Harry sighed once again at the irony. Perhaps it was the universe taunting him once again for his farcical imagination. He’d been injured, but with a much less appealing outcome.

The knocking came again as he donned his glasses.

“Coming,” he called out, trying to suppress his irritation as he trudged through the flat. Torn between annoyance and gratitude at his best mates’ need to mind him, he wrenched the door open. “Ron, I’m _fine—_ ”

“Ron? I’m not sure that’s a compliment,” Ginny said, her eyebrows raised.

“Ginny?” He gaped.

Was this an elaborate scheme of his muddled mind to torment him? He grappled with the sight of her in front of him, looking too solid to be a hallucination.

His fantasies came back full force: her weeping over him, confessing her feelings —

“Mum sent me.” Ginny held up a basket of prepared food, including an entire treacle tart. “Ron mentioned you were hurt, and she wanted to make sure you were taken care of.”

_Oh._

Harry shifted, the bubble inside him bursting.

“Right. Of course. That was really thoughtful of her. Er, come in.” 

As she walked by, his stomach twisted as the fragrant smell of flowers wafted over him.

He tried not to stare as she shrugged off her cloak. The well-worn Weasley jumper wasn’t particularly revealing, but his blood hummed pleasantly in her presence. He still couldn’t believe she was here.

With a jolt, he realized she was staring up at him quizzically. 

“Let me get that for you,” he rushed, taking her cloak from her. His side protested when he reached up to hang it. He turned back to find her appraising him. “I’m fine, really. There was no need to bring me anything.”

Her lips quirked up. “You’d probably say that even if you weren’t fine.”

Harry rolled his eyes but smiled at her laugh. “Know me that well, do you?”

“I like to think so,” Ginny said, her eyes flickering away. “Where should I put this then?”

“The kitchen.”

“Are you hungry? Mum cast a warming charm on these earlier.”

“No, I’m fine,” he said, only to internally kick himself as he followed her to the kitchen. 

Maybe she would leave now that her chore was finished. Surely she had other things to do… What was she doing home? Could she possibly be here to see Dean?

Harry inhaled sharply when he nearly careened into her. So absorbed in his thoughts, he hadn’t noticed her setting down the food on the small space on the kitchen table not covered with work and suddenly turning toward him. He swallowed at how close she was. Heat crawled up his neck as the memory of the last time they were here flashed before him — when he lifted her onto the table, his hands sliding up her thighs, under her skirt.

He tried to conjure up unappealing images. Drowning kittens, yes, that was good.

“You look exhausted,” she said, assessing him once more. Her eyes slowly slid down, lingering long enough on his injury that Harry unconsciously reached over to cover his side with his hand. She clearly had noticed the pain earlier. 

“It’s not as bad as it seems,” he said.

She gave him an unimpressed look. “What happened?”

“I was careless,” Harry said, trying to dismiss her concerns. “I’ll live.”

“Yes, you have a tendency for that, don’t you?” she quipped.

“Oh no, I might not survive another Boy-Who-Lives joke,” he said dryly. 

“Yes, well, I reckon I should refrain for today. Some of us are quite fond of having you around,” she said, folding her arms around her chest.

“Are you?” he asked before he could stop himself, his voice coming out more roughly than intended.

Ginny met his gaze unwaveringly, despite the pink that tinged her cheeks. “Of course we are.”

His traitorous heart skipped a beat. Friends cared when another one got injured. Nothing to get excited about.

“Good thing I have every intention of sticking around then,” Harry said, shoving his hands in his pockets. 

“Good,” she said with a small smile. “So how are you really?” 

Despite his best efforts, her concern warmed him. “It’s only residual spell damage. Your mum is great; I really appreciate it, but I don’t want to be a bother.”

Her eyebrows furrowed. “You’re never a bother, Harry.”

He shifted uncomfortably, his fingers rubbing against his lightning scar out of habit. “Healers said I need to rest. I don’t need to be fussed over, Ginny.”

Strange that what flashed in his mind was his small hands covering his mouth, _don’t cough, don’t cough,_ unable to suppress his inflamed chest from rattling noisily, only to be met with a shrill, sharp rapping against the cupboard door that clanged in his feverish haze.

The feel of Ginny’s hand on his arm brought him back. Her warm brown eyes regarded him intently. “We all need a bit of fussing now and again, Harry.”

He swallowed the large lump that was lodged in his throat.

“You should let us take care of you.” 

She released his arm and turned to mutter a spell for the contents of the basket to arrange themselves in his larder. Despite the tingling absence her touch left behind, he wondered if she had done it to deliberately give him a moment to collect himself.

That would be very much like her.

“Well,” Ginny said, clearing her throat. “I suppose I should let you get some rest.”

“No, I — would you maybe like some tea?” Harry flushed at her raised eyebrows. To avoid looking at her, he shifted his attention to rubbing a small stain of ink left on the table. “I can’t fall asleep. A bit of company might…help.” He paused, mortification building up inside him. “Unless you have other plans, of course.”

“I can stay,” Ginny said slowly. He tried not to sag in relief. 

“Molly won’t mind?”

“She was very explicit about making sure you were comfortable.” She nudged him, finally making him drag his eyes away from the table. “Why don’t you make a fire and put your feet up in the living room? I’ll bring out the tea.” 

“I can help,” he said immediately, only to find her guiding him toward the door.

“I may not be a culinary genius, but I can manage tea on my own, Harry.”

“I’m the host,” he began.

“I’ll only stay on the condition that you let yourself be fussed over a little.” She arched a challenging eyebrow at him.

“All right, all right, you win, Ginny.” He made a show of sighing dramatically.

“Did you really expect otherwise?” She chuckled, giving him one last push before turning to fiddle with his kettle.

 _Not really_.

Harry dropped onto his couch with more gusto than he had expected, sinking into the soft cushions deeply. Merlin, he truly was exhausted. A glance at the clock over his mantle confirmed his grim suspicion that he had been awake for over thirty-two hours. Yet, despite the fatigue deep in his bones, he still felt wired. Harry gave a lazy flick of his wand at the fireplace and it came to life.

“Isn’t that better?” Ginny walked towards him with two mugs of steaming tea. The smile she gave him warmed him more than the heat coming from the fire. She held one of the mugs out to him. “Just herbal so you can hopefully sleep.”

“Thank you.” He accepted a mug from her. She settled beside him, one leg curled under the other, leading to her knee being pleasantly pressed against his thigh. 

Absently, he rubbed his sore ribs. He was likely failing at hiding how he watched her over the rim of his mug. Warmth spread through him at the sight of her there, the glow from the fire illuminating her in warm oranges and yellows. It was such a comfortable, domestic setting that he had to force himself to focus lest he got lost in his foolish daydreams again.

_That’s not what this is._

“What brings you home?” he asked.

“Oh you know,” Ginny said, staring at the fire and taking a tentative sip of her tea. “Becoming a starter is great, but it makes being around the other team members all the time a bit…grating. We all get along, but the breaks are nice. It’s easier to relax at home.”

With family, Harry reminded himself as he absently rubbed his side. Not him.

“I’m sure everyone is happy to see more of you,” he said, trying to keep his voice light.

“Except you,” she said casually.

“What?” He straightened.

“You seemed to be expecting a different ginger earlier,” she teased.

He eased back with a scoff. “More like shooing him away.”

“Admit it, you miss him.”

He made a noise of complaint but didn’t deny it. “I asked _you_ to stay.”

“So you did,” she said softly, a small smile breaking through, and _damn_ if it didn’t make his stomach swoop. 

They listened to the faint crackling from the fire in companionable silence for a moment. Harry tilted the mug to his lips when Ginny spoke again. 

“Is it hard?”

“What?” he sputtered, the liquid traveling down the wrong pipe, causing him to cough and choke. He quickly set down his mug.

“Was it something I said?” She laughed, seeming to revel in his discomfort as she gave him several firm pats to his back. “Unless you’re telling me…”

“You’ll be the death of me.” Harry sighed, grateful that the hot flush could be explained by his choking, not the memories of wanking to her a week earlier.

“Don’t worry, I’m well aware that you’re not up for… _other_ activities.”

“I wasn’t—” 

“Weren’t you?” 

“Ginny.” He made a strangled noise, covering half of his face.

“All right, all right. I’ll stop taking the mickey out of you.” Ginny tried to hide an amused smile. 

“Is _what_ hard?” Harry asked, desperate to change the topic.

“Being without Ron,” she said, seeming to take mercy on him. 

“Oh.” He frowned down at the tea. “Well, it isn’t the same without him. I still see him plenty, of course, just…” He shrugged, not sure how to put in words how different it was not to have Ron and Hermione by his side after all those years. The comfort of Ron’s laughter and Hermione’s huffs. It had been hard enough when only he and Ron had become Aurors. And now, he was alone.

“I’m sure he misses you too.”

“He has George and Hermione,” Harry said, pulling at an errant thread from the couch.

“You have people, Harry,” Ginny said, voice soft, her cheek pressed against the curve of the couch. The way the light danced against her fiery hair captivated him.

“I know I still have Ron and Hermione. It’s just…different.” He felt like he should look away, but he couldn’t seem to. Something tight pressed against his chest.

“Different isn’t always bad. And you have other friends. Neville, Hannah, Luna.” She bit down on her lower lip. “Me.”

“Yeah,” he said, his heart pounding loudly. A tremor went through him as he let his hand fall on her knee, a short distance from her own. “Friends.” 

It meant so much and yet wasn’t nearly enough.

Ginny gave him a small smile before straightening. The moment broke as she adjusted her position to put her mug down. Harry snatched his hand back, flexing it by his side. 

“As your friend, I need to tell you that you look dead on your feet.”

“Way to make a bloke feel good, Gin,” he said, smiling sadly as the heavy weariness returned.

“Is the pain too much? Did they give you anything?”

Harry pulled a face. “I already took some pain potion, but it doesn’t seem to help much with the residual spell aftereffects. And some sleepless draught, but.”

“Oh,” she said.

“Yeah. They didn’t know that. Well.” He shrugged, pulling at a frayed string he found on his couch.

She had been there after the war when the potion became less and less effective, unable to drown out his grief and guilt.

“All I need to do is ‘just relax,’” he said, an edge of bitterness creeping into his voice. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see what Ginny’s face looked like.

“Maybe I can help with that.”

Harry froze when he felt the couch beside him creak as her weight shifted. 

“Ginny, what—” he started, turning to her, only to realize how close she was. He could barely breathe as her fingers brushed against his cheek as she reached up to slowly, carefully remove his glasses. 

“Take off your shirt.”

His face warmed. “Ginny.”

“If you want,” she said, placing his hands on her hips, sliding them up just under her jumper. His thumb roughly skimmed over the slip of warm, exposed skin. “I can help you relax.”

Harry could hardly breathe when she was looking at him that way but managed a small nod. And then she was leaning in to kiss him. Her lips pressed gently against his, a slow pressure building, swirling deep inside him. His hands tightened around her waist, pulling her closer, needing to drown in her proffered relief. 

“Ginny,” he breathed against her lips, which provided her the opportunity to trace her tongue over his lower lip before dipping it into him. Without conscious heeding, his hands delved further under her jumper, finally gratifying the gnawing need to touch her since the moment he opened the door, needing to prove that she was here, she was real, and for a moment, she was willing to be his. 

Keen urgency surged up in him as she rolled her hips against him, sending waves of pleasure rippling through him. He shifted to press her closer, to pour the relentless need into the kiss, only for a razor-sharp pain to slice through him. He broke away with a gasp.

“Harry?”

The spasm in his side told him he would likely regret partaking in _other_ activities afterward. He took in a breath to steady himself, only to inhale her sweet scent.

_Fuck it._

“‘S fine,” he gritted out. He went to kiss her again, only to have her pull away.

“Harry—”

“It’s nothing,” he insisted, pressing his lips against the soft curve of her neck, hoping to distract her. He attempted to lower her onto the couch, only for the pain to rip through him once again.

Harry hissed, jerking back.

“Stop,” Ginny demanded.

“I’m sorry, _fuck_ , I —” His grip on her tightened. He felt weak and useless, afraid if he let go, she would disappear.

“No, Harry.” Her calm voice cut through his panic. 

She cupped his face, kissing him deeply until his heart slowed. When she pulled away, he was gratified by her breathiness that suggested she was just as affected. Her firm hand pressed against him seemed to order him to ease back, and he let himself relax back into the couch, relieving the discomfort some. 

“Don’t move — you’re hurt,” she said. “You’ll only make it worse. Leave it to me.”

Harry’s breath hitched when Ginny pulled her jumper over her head, revealing a thin cotton vest. Her red-golden hair tumbled down her shoulders in a beautiful mess. He tried really hard not to stare. He wasn’t very confident he pulled it off.

“Your turn,” she said, her fingers tracing the hem of his shirt.

Unable to resist her, he could do nothing but raise his arms, allowing her to gently tug the shirt off. He could feel her eyes traveling on him, no doubt taking in the angry, red-purple bruise. 

In the glow of the firelight, this felt strangely more intimate than any of their previous rendezvous, most of which had been in the dark under not a little influence of alcohol. Both of them were sober, and with little chance of Harry being able to do much without further injuring himself. 

The urge to know what she thought of him was as strong as the urge to hide from her gaze.

When he glanced up, he realized she wasn’t staring at his new injury, but his old scars. Her fingers lightly traced over the oval and lightning scar over his heart. Did she know what they were from? Had Ron or Hermione ever mentioned the locket? 

“Ginny…” Harry said, a small break in his voice. He wasn’t sure what he was going to say, but he needed to do something to fight against the roiling feeling that threatened to swamp him.

She lightly guided him onto his back, against the cushions, horizontal on the couch. Her long hair surrounded her like a red curtain, her lips descending back onto his, easing away the tight ball of tension inside him. When she moved to kiss his pulse point, he made an embarrassingly urgent sound.

“I reckoned two weeks alone in a tent, with no one but your right hand…if that’s not stressful, I don’t know what is,” she chuckled, a low rumbling that sent shivers up his spine. “Consider it a friendly pick-me-up.”

Ginny slowly shimmied lower, her hands and lips and _oh God_ tongue trailing down his chest, skimming his hip bone, lower and lower until she was settled between his legs. 

Harry’s mouth went dry at the sight. Her lips curved as she undid his trousers where she had undoubtedly noticed his growing arousal. He attempted to blink away the fog of desire that clouded his thoughts as she fumbled with the straining buttons.

“Tell me if anything hurts.”

“But I can’t — return the favor,” he said, his voice hitching as she removed his trousers. It didn’t feel right, him not being able to make her feel good.

“Mum did say to make you comfortable,” she teased, her fingers skimming over a sensitive area, making him jump slightly.

Harry groaned. “Ginny, I really don’t want to be thinking about your mum right now.”

She laughed as her hand wrapped around him lightly, making it really difficult for him to focus. “Then stop thinking.”

She leaned in, her tongue dangerously close, but Harry’s hand shot out to stop her. “Really, you don’t —”

“I want to,” she said.

His brain stuttered, struggling to catch up with what was about to happen — what Ginny wanted to do.

No one had done that for him before.

Ginny gave him an odd look, firelight catching in her eyes. “Let me take care of you, Harry.”

He stilled, unable to comprehend, let alone respond to her. His chest rose and fell unsteadily, his mind unable to count the times anyone had done that for him. There weren’t many. His throat narrowed painfully, a rawness choking up inside him. He turned his face into the couch, letting his hand fall away and jerking his head in assent.

And then Harry couldn’t think at all. 

Inarticulate words tumbled from his lips, and he would be embarrassed if it weren’t for the mind-blowing sensation of her warm, wet mouth around him. He whimpered when her tongueswirled around him, overstimulated already, all the more so by the traitorous thought that she could _taste_ him. 

_“Fuck_ ,” he gasped.

Ginny stilled her soft lips that had been gliding over the tip of him. Harry made a strangled noise at the sight of her flushed face, her fingers tenderly curled around him, glistening with wetness. Her eyes sought his, her brow slightly furrowed. “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” he blurted out, winded by the desperation that sprang up. “Yes, please—”

_Don’t stop. Please don’t stop._

For a moment, as she seemed to hesitate, he squeezed his eyes shut to push down the impending cold in his chest. Of course he would ruin this. Already he could see her changing her mind and leaving him.

He groaned when her tongue slowly dragged over him, obliterating his ability to form thoughts _._ Sweet agony shuddered through him.

Harry was burning up, engulfed in the unbelievable sensation of the hot pressure of her mouth. He couldn’t breathe as her fingers and tongue explored, taking turns brushing over his most sensitive areas. He gasped and strained his head further into the cushion, his body strumming with overwhelming pleasure.

After everything they had already done, why did this make him feel so utterly exposed?

“Gin,” he moaned, feeling himself hanging on by the cliff’s edge. Fear pierced through the haze of desire. His hands clenched the cushions, praying he could hold on, hold back, refrain from shifting his hips or helping her torture him further.

For all his fantasies, he had never imagined _this._ Ginny wanting to do _this_ for him. Wanting nothing in return. The thought made him soft and weak inside. 

It couldn’t be real, _it couldn’t be real_.

“Relax, Harry,” she whispered against him. The feel of her hot breath made him tremble. One of her hands found his, entwining their fingers together, anchoring him. “It’s okay. Let yourself feel good.”

With great effort and trepidation, Harry looked down through half-lidded eyes to see Ginny taking more of him than he ever thought possible, her hair wild and mussed, a sight that elicited a low moan from him. His trembling hand in hers squeezed tightly, afraid of letting go of his tentative control as she dragged him closer and closer to the edge. 

A shiver ran through him at her unrelenting gaze as she took in what she was doing to him, watching him come undone for her. The curl of a smile on her rosy-red lips — that she was _enjoying_ doing this to him.

_Let me take care of you._

He slammed his eyes shut as the barriers he’d tried to build came tumbling down. She didn’t mean it that way, she didn’t, but knowing this did nothing to prevent the flare of longing and hope inside him.

“Gin, I—” Harry panted, the intensity becoming too much. His body began to arch off the couch. “I’m going to—you don’t—”

He clenched his jaw, straining to pull away, but she only tightened her hold on him, moving _harder,_ confirming her intentions.

Oh God, she was going to—could it mean that she—

Harry threw his head back, his entire body tightening and convulsing as he came, something in him spinning out of control. Stars burst behind his eyes as he toppled off the cliff’s edge. When he managed to lift his eyelids to see her swallowing, a last quiver of pleasure tore through him. 

The entire time, her hand remained in his, holding his fingers as tightly as he did hers, promising that she would catch him when he let go.

He felt boneless, his body either floating off or melting back into the couch, he couldn’t be entirely sure.

Something heavy spread over him, covering the warmth that unfurled from his chest. His mind grappled weakly for the word to place it. 

“Ginny,” he mumbled, his voice thick and slow.

“Sleep, Harry,” he heard her say. Her voice sounded distant. As the last of his strength ebbed away, fingers threaded through his hair, lingering. Vaguely, something brushed against his lips as he faded into blissful oblivion.

Harry awoke to his hand grasping at the cool air. 

Blinking blearily, he noticed the dying fire, the last of the embers fading quietly. His eyes swept the room, taking in the thick blanket laid over him. His glasses glinted from the coffee table. The pain in his side had receded but had been replaced with the dull ache in his chest.

Ginny was gone, taking all the warmth with her.

**Author's Note:**

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